No Such Thing as a Free Concert

Anyways, the Cold War Kids were playing in Prospect Park, for free, last Friday.

Of course I went! Goddamn you three, what do you take me for? Some kind of sucker? Well, turns out, I really was a sucker for thinking there was such a thing as a free concert. I should qualify: getting in was free, but you couldn't take any food or drink with you.

Yeah, that scam. $2 for soda, $3 for water, $6 for 12 oz's of Budweiser. Yeah, you read that right. They're trying to get paid, suckah! Naturally, my brother and I couldn't manage to swallow that. Of course, we did manage to choke down two Negro Modelo's that were left by a trash can (no, not in the fucker, but it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if they were, we'd still take them and drink them) by some person who obviously treasured close seating more than their beer. I suppose I understand, in a weird sorta-love-music-more-than-beer way. Or something.

So my brother and I sat outside the fenced-in area, and watched all the cops that swarmed the place like flies on you-know-what. Not that it stopped anyone from drinking outside the fence, or smoking pot. Here's an interesting observation: in New York, middle-classed white people can do pretty much whatever the hell they want, and the cops ain't tripping. I mean, the trees were burning, and the smell was everywhere, and the cops were chillin' on the main drag through the park (nevermind why there is a main drag through a park, it's beyond me) like nothing was happening.

Despite being white, I don't feel quite that secure. Long prison terms do that to a person.

After the concert was mostly over, brother and I went for a ride, I had to go to Staten Island, he was going home to sleep. Of course, he's more native to NYC than myself, so I let him shout out the directions.

Side note: we were on bikes, of course. And my chupecabra, the rat bastard goat-suck that he is, hadn't ate that night. This is important to help understand the next part... the part where I got directed by my brother right into a flight of stairs.

Maybe ten of them... I couldn't see them because it was nighttime, until it was too late to brake for the edge. So instead I jumped, and landed awkwardly. Actually with enough awkwardness that Chupecabra decided he was being abused, and to bite back. Now my shin has about seven holes in it, but at the time I was too busy cursing out my brother to notice it...

...or the smaller flight of steps that I came crashing down upon. This time, however, it was only five steps, so I managed to hop them all... and landed with a small bit of surety (if not pride).. and zoomed off to Staten.

So what I'm saying is that I went to a free concert, and all I got was these lousy holes in my shin. Que sera, sera, right?