Spaceman Spiff's

The autumn air brings to my ears the sound of the marching band in the midst of its early morning rehearsal.

BOOM DIDA BA DIDA BOOM DIDA BA DIDA BOOM DIDA BA DI BA BI DI BA!

The nasal crack of the snares are distinct from where I am, nearly a mile away from the high school,  and I remember how badly I had once wanted to be a part of that illustrious drum-core.

It's sunny outside and there is hope in the air. Jays chirp, squirrels squabble as though it is spring, and the fresh scent of skunk suggest that summer is on the way. But alas,  in a few short weeks the trees will be baren; they'd already begun to change colors.  Snow will plaster the ground of this beautiful Midwestern suburb, and the only sounds that will be heard will be the engines of slow moving snow plows clearing the immense volume of precipitation that will inevitably fall.

I light my cigarette and trudge slowly to the above ground train station. I love the fall in this town where I grew up in,  where I currently occupy my parent's basement. I regret the fact that I spend so much of my day in the depth of the Simms building, downtown.  I'm an operator for the service elevator of a furniture company, and my shift goes from 10am to 6pm. By the time I get home, the sun will be down, and nature will seem asleep.

On the train into the city,  I meet up with Manny. He's  one of the custodial assistants at Fallow-Wakeman, the law firm next door to where I work. We give each other the customary nod as he sits down next to me,  and we both look out the dirt streaked window and day-dream.

When we get downtown, we walk together and do our black-man hand shake before departing for our seperate buildings.  Tonight, we'll get off at about the same time so we'll see each other later.

The day is crazy slow as the shipments from the Chicago office have not arrived yet. Up and down. Pause. Pause. Down and up. Pause. Pause.  Repeat Twice and Thrice and a hundred times.

Manny texts me as I leave the building . We go to our normal bar, "Spaceman Spiff's" and each get 2 beers, burgers and fries.  We buy a growler for later in the night, and leave for the 8 o'clock train to the Westside, at the opposite end of the train line where we had come in to work.

By 8:35, we are walking to the desolate row houses right on the lake. Manny and I don't talk much but I can tell he is annoyed by the rain and gusts of wind that begin to pelt us. I'm happy though. Like I said, I like it when nature is awake, and she is threatening to roar tonight.

The earthy scent of ganja wafts through the door of the small gray house we stand in front of, as we knock aggressively. Bilbo opens the door with his loud guffaws, and draws us into the warm dingy space.

The drum set is already prepared and I grab my sticks as Manny goes over to the bass in the corner of the living room area. Ryan,  the guitarist , offers up a joint, and he gladly takes a swig of the growler I hand him.  Bilbo adjusts the mic next to his keyboard. Tonight we'd be working on Prince's "Diamond and Pearls" for a wedding gig we have on Saturday.

I count it off, and we go wild. The day before us and the day and days to come melt away into nothingness. We are legends. We are soul. We are music that Rocks.