Somewhere in Indiana
The band loved to explore local cafes and all types of midwestern diners while on the road. About 2 hours outside of Chicago one night they discovered Gene’s diner. The seven band members and tour staff all piled into a booth. Out of a set of swinging doors came a bespectacled lady well over the age of sixty. She looked as though she had lived in both a desert and a city. Miles peered at the outline of a lizard tattooed on her tan forearm and light-pink fingernails. Black horned rimmed spectacles reflected the bright white light she stood under besides the table. She struck Pete as so funny he almost burst out laughing. Sensing trouble, she looked the group over before slowly reaching back for either her taser or her menu pad. He gathered himself before looking back down at the menu and coughing.
“Can I help you, gentleman?” she asked. Staring directly at Miles, she looked expectantly as if out of anyone there he could possibly save them.
“I’ll take a whiskey coke to drink,” he told her. Pete quickly followed up to say he wanted one too.
“Listen… I don’t mind serving you but don’t trash the place. Some of us have to make an honest living you know,” she told the group. Miles thought she merely said so to poke fun at the him. He offered her a fresh cigarette out of his pack which she expected. Five minutes later, she brought two glasses of coke. Before they could say anything she took out two airplane bottle of Jim Bean and dumped it into Pete’s drink then his. Someone else had ordered a shake which she also brought. They ordered burgers, gyros, fries, and sandwiches of varying kinds.
“Cheers,” Pete said, holding up his glass towards her. She told them plenty of bands came through here and she used to date a rockstar when she lived in the city. Which city Miles did not exactly know. She preceded to take a small bag out of her pocket. By then normal conversation had begun again and most of the table didn’t notice. Miles knew exactly what she would do. Whatever she had in the bag, didn’t look at all like coke because it shined bright pink. She stuck her long fingernail into it and snorted. She coughed wildly. Then she said something about how the whole Chicago scene had gone to crap since she lasted lived there (clearing up Miles’ confusion).
“No booze, for me… Not tonight,” she said. She continued to laugh as if drinking had become an inside joke between them. The table fell silent and the rest of the band looked at her in disbelief. Equally shocked she reached her finger into the bag and shuddered trying to draw powder out once again. Her yellow stained teeth grinned at them. “Let me know, if I can get you fellas anything else,” she said before lighting the cigarette and turning away. Receding back into the double doors as she did caused a huge crash in the kitchen. The boys left soon after and ever since Pete would mention “Gene’s” around Miles like some big party both of them had attended.
On their off days, Pete and Miles would do psychedelics. Pete would usually take a stem or two then annoy his fellow band mates with conversation which droned on the higher he got. After a show in North Carolina, Pete had told him they he knew a local man willing to give them even more, so they could trip every day on the tour. In Los Gatos, they could get the bars pretty much whenever they wanted. Pete always laughed at how the bars marketed to children with the Wonka name and cartoonish images of someone’s head exploding. Pete had done acid a few times but Miles had only done mushrooms. They both followed Reddit pages where people documented their experiences with test chemicals.
“I started violently thrashing and breaking everything in my room. Police detained me. I woke up in the emergency room still very high. I could feel, however, the nurses put me on some benzos to calm down,” wrote one user about an experience with a compound called ‘TZ6’.
“Wow man, this guy definitely didn’t take what he thought,” Pete would comment as the two laughed. Beyond the simple function as a social lubricant, psychedelics made Miles too emotional. He never did them on stage but always wanted to try. One night, after one of his best shows, he noticed either a bag of shrooms or half of a chocolate bar. The exact series of events escapes him (he’d drank heavily to the point). Grabbing the drugs, he inserted them between two slices of bread and the remaining lunch meet from their pre-show catering. After 30 minutes the whole roomed flipped upside down.
He not only felt emotional at the time but had some type of revelation about how everyone only wanted to use him. Everyone around him except Vanessa had somehow tricked him into using his mediocre talents as a way to escape the monotony of their normal lives. He sat on the floor for hours watching everything pulse. The toilet water of the hotel bathroom looked like a tidal wave. Every time he attempted to move felt too dizzying. Instead of listening to far off voices in the night, he listened to music: the Beatles. “Living is easy with eyes closed”. He turned up his headphones and leaned back into his hotel bed. He tried to close his eyes as tight as possible. The more he tried the he saw fantastic colors and shapes flash before him.
He watched the movie ‘Midsommar’ a few nights ago. After the movie he thought if only he had the same idea, he could make money as a screenwriter. He would pitch a similar film but instead cowboys attack the village and bust everyone out. One day, he’d get some fancy software which helps one write screenplays, and he would finally do it. About halfway through a cigarette he felt the first drops of rain patter his porch. He could feel the Los Gatos smog in the air, causing the city to turn grey. Grey, smoggy days it felt as if all the city had gone to sleep. On days like today, the people of Rosemont would lurk inside playing their instruments, honing their craft, calling their friends. The gloom gave the rare reprieve from either unbearable heat or chilly nights.