Rebels of the Neon God

[MethodicalSlacker]

32 Degrees Fahrenheit, RealFeel™ 28 Degrees, Cloudy, Snowing Mildly, 3 Inches Accumulated

Dancing across the crosswalk, with a McCafe to-go cup in her hand, Lili beamed at the Newport man as he pushed the hand-truck into Quik Stop. He didn't notice, threw the door open (jingle-ling-a-ling up above) and trudged inside—but then, he must have noticed—with not a glance back he shoved the door open wider with his boot as he passed, and Lili sailed on through into the warmth of the convenience store, immediately blinded by condensation on her glasses. For the time being she took them off and let them dangle around her neck, and banged a left into the snack aisle while she waited incognito for Cigarette Santa to finish with the stockings.

Fun-yuns, Hot Fries, Pork Rinds—she was going to quit band sooner or later but this semester might be the one. Like she knew that first rehearsals back from break tended to be pretty slow-going and rough, but this Foundry piece might just be impossible. For basically the whole sight read they were just sitting there, counting along to the metronome in place of the percussion section, thump thump thumping like her leg up and down waiting for it to end so she could run across the street for a smoke. Apparently this piece called for a brake drum. The whole thing made sense when the band director mentioned that the composer, John Mackey, loved the band Tool, and also didn't play any instruments himself. So there were a lot of really off high notes, and the Freshman flutes had no idea what to do with the time signature change two pages in, so everyone looked at Lili like she was playing the wrong thing when she held that really high note (in tune mind you!) and if she hadn't started coughing they would have understood that it was on purpose.

The only reason she was considering sticking around was because the band director was thinking he might use one of her suggestions, but wouldn't tell her which. Ugh.

She decided on the Hot Fries and moved on to the back, by the drinks. After Lili's last birthday, her Dad, in what must have been a total lapse of place and time, asked her to go down to the Quik Stop and bring back a six pack of beer, and refused to pay for it when she brought back Tsingtao instead of Bud Light. Go figure. If she liked the taste of beer she probably could get away with a bit of drinking around the house, since she was working so hard, or whatever—smoking was out of the question, and it was easier to pretend you weren't a smoker when you weren't a cougher—hence the Newports, which were about finished going up on the shelf but not quite yet. Kiwi Strawberry Vitamin Water for after she was done with her black coffee, two sugars.

And... fuck it, a single small can of beer—she wasn't really looking at what it was when she grabbed it—for later tonight, editing the overdubs and field recordings onto the latest jam. A spot of inspiration, perhaps, when she pulled it out of her backpack and realized, maybe, that she had grabbed an O'Doul's or something by mistake.

Lili took her place, fourth in line. In the side pocket of her black Levi's jacket were three lighters, but they were probably all out of butane by now so it was time to buy another. But, at the front, at the register, there were only two left, and they were shitty, ugly colors. Damn it. What a start to the year. Cats and Soup and thinking about Friday recording session in line time. Pretending that they were playing something different on the store radio next to the register, some Terry Riley or whoever.