Thursday night shindig at CheapSteaks 7/7

The sweltering heat has nested over the land of North Texas for quite some time. Recently the temperature has increased, alongside the poor air quality. It is enough to make a born and raised Texan like myself question their existence in this state. It’s not a day that goes by without hearing or being apart of a conversation about the high temperatures. There has been an increasing number of senior citizens that would ask the Lord to bless my heart every time I told someone how often I am in and out of my delivery truck. The unpleasant, heated air flow swept across my nose from Malcolm X Boulevard after exited my vehicle I parked in an empty lot. It felt as if someone opened up the oven door with the oven on. I turned to my right to head west towards CheapSteaks, which seemed like a far walk but in reality, it wasn’t. The night air occupying Deep Ellum was sticky, making it twice as hard to breath. If there was a pro for sticky air, it would only benefit those who sprayed on perfume or cologne as soon as they exited their vehicles. I decided to unbutton one more button on my shirt for my torso to receive more air low. As I unfastened the button the wind smacked my chest, causing my light blue short- sleeved Wrangler shirt to dance wildly behind me. For a moment, I felt like Alan Jackson on the jet-ski in the music video for Chattahoochee.

For a Thursday night the streets weren’t nearly as crowded as a Saturday night, but they were still occupied with residents and out of town visitors. I was a bit reluctant to head towards the 7/11, disregarding my craving for a Slurpee. Moving forward with one boot in front of the other, there wasn’t much that stood out for me to take a mental note. Dark windows continued to fill my right peripheral vision as I edged closer to the venue. In a brief moment a distant memory stopped me dead in my tracks, causing my camera to swing around the left side of my hip and clashed with my belt buckles. It was roughly ten years ago, around the time Wiz Khalifa had a blonde patch of hair in his afro (I remember the detail because he inspired me to dye a part of my hair blonde at the time). The streets were flooded due to a massive event that took place in multiple venues at once, a festival of some sort. My jeans were a bit slimmer then, every pair of shoes I owned were Vans Skate shoes and my usual fit came straight out of Zumiez or whatever band shirt I had available. I had a flask in my back pocket (as I think about it, it seemed crazy to me because I was walking in AND out of bars and venues with no hassle) filled with Kentucky Deluxe. It was easy for me to reach a level of intoxication that was manageable but noticeable. Little to no food was eaten that evening and I was out to have fun and meet new people, the same vibe I share today, only a tad more immature and moderately shy. Blurry vision and recklessness were at the forefront as I made my way east on Elm Street. I felt my stomach turning in ways I never felt before. It felt violent enough for me to lean against that brick wall, right before crossing the alley with TREES in my sight. I made sure I looked like the cool kid waiting on a friend to arrive in any moment. Suddenly, what I thought was an angelic voice, found its way into my left ear and infiltrated its way through my ear canal into the part of my brain where it processes communication. The statement, “Hey, you look really cute with your blonde patch of hair”, reached the cognition stage (or the lack thereof) in my awareness. Without warning, my stomach caved into the violence. It lost the battle, and I lost my marbles. What I ate from the past week, whiskey, and my life made a forceful exit from my mouth, pushing my torso downwards in exaggerated hunch position. A foul smelled reached my nose from the ground in front of me and tears filled my eyes, lubricating my eye contacts. A mischievous grin was the direct response to the moment followed by a distant scream and a reaction in pure disgust trailing off into the distant. What a night to remember.

The guy at the door of CheapSteaks was a tall and dark fellow. Complexion of dark chocolate underneath his black shirt and pants. His beard seems to be well kept. Judging by the rhythm of the movement in his jawline, I assumed the gum he was chewing on was delicious. He didn’t seem to take his job as serious as I would like but it didn’t bother me. After showing him my ID, he asked if I had a gun. The severe lack of eye contact let me further know he was just there to get a check. My response was simple “no”, yet it took him a few seconds to respond back. I assumed his attention was focused elsewhere. There was probably a phat ass across street that caught his attention. Afterwards, I took five steps to the left and stop in front of the small bar. Soft pink and purple LED lights masked my vision, blanketing each shadowy corner; Intrinsity of the nightlife. The bartenders behind the bar looked like they were in the middle of a comedic conversation that I didn’t want to disturb. The wall behind them was a towering display of expensive liquor that I wasn’t familiar with. Southern smiles and a double whiskey neat later, I stepped away from the bar to make my way around the seating area towards the staircase. Adjacent to two restrooms, the staircase leads up toward the outside bar and stage, what I considered the second floor. Not too far in the past, I was an avid skateboarder. I saw the world through different eyes then and now: virtually anything was an obstacle to do a trick on or over. Each step I took connected to each stair until I finally reach the top. I turn around and briefly thought about the first trick I would execute off of this set. I boiled it down to an ollie first (of course) and more than likely a kickflip or backside 180. The thought of landing a trick off of any stair set would be glorious in the moment. After I turned back around, I was able to get a full view of everything going on in front of me. To my immediate right was the outside bar, occupied with up to three bartenders and covered by some sort of awning. Familiar faces and conversations carried on against the heat. In front of me and edging towards the left around the bar were multiple picnic tables on top of rocks and sand, creating a cloud of dust hovering over the occupants like an old western movie. In front of the picnic table was enough for a medium size pit to form. The stage sat right above my knees, sharing the characteristics of a small pavilion. If one were to look up, not only would they see the multiple exposed lightbulbs stretching from the stage to the walls, but they would also be able to get a good view of the surrounding buildings and lofts looking down into CheapSteaks. A slice of perversion enters my thoughts nonchalantly; I always wondered if I would ever catch a spontaneous couple performing intercourse in front of the exposed windows. Nonetheless it’s a pleasant view for a visitor to get a glimpse of Dallas or the average local who takes pride in their city.

By this time, I took a couple of gulps of whiskey before I started my rounds of hugs. My senses were buzzing just enough to get juices flowing and get the party started, although I was already late and missed a handful of bands. That wasn’t near enough to bring my spirits down, there will always be another time to see the bands if I haven’t seen them already. The more hugs I gave, the more smiles I shared, the happier I became. I cherished every embrace and every ounce of love mutually given and received by my friends and peer. My perception of time and sound was slightly off. My head felt like it was spinning but not due to a chemical imbalance or to the lack of stability in my equilibrium; everywhere I turned, more friendly faces appeared in my vision. Fortunately, I showed up just in time to watch Ballista perform. My cup of whiskey wasn’t as full as it was a few minutes prior and my camera stayed firm in my grip. As they began to play, I felt my feet move about and my reflexes kicking in. Every shot I took on the camera felt trickier than the last. I was impressed by my level of determination; a DSLR camera in my right hand and whiskey in my left hand was no easy task. One moment I was standing on top of picnic tables trying to find a sweet spot and the next minute, I was on ground level near the action. Back button focusing on my Nikon camera was one of the primary reasons why I was able to snap a good photo. Every passing moment felt harder to breathe. I was well aware of what was going on in my surroundings with each movement. What bothered me the most was the amount of sweat I was perspiring. For the amount of movement used in the space, I was soaked. It wrecked my nerves, but I quickly ignore it to capture a few shots of Chloe screaming with ferocity into the mic on stage. By the time Ballista was done playing, I wanted to stop shooting. I didn’t want to carry the camera around to shoot but the truck was too far away. It would’ve been nonsense to make that walk. What was more important was spending time with friends in an environment that brings us all together. As a human, I was fulfilled with the communal aspect of acceptance amongst like- minded participants, a joyous feeling at best. There was one more band left to play so I decided to get more drinks with a dear friend beforehand.

Up next was a band called Body Box. It was a subtle reminder on how late I was to the show. I had no clue as to why I assumed I was going to be able to catch more bands. Body Box is an interesting death metal band from Florida. To my knowledge, the band is under Maggot Stomp label. I’m a huge fan of their murderous double pedal and the intensity in the tone. The vocalist’s deep growl is mean and has a nice guttural overtone. Heavy and downright brutal, Body Box was awesome to see live. Shortly after their set, all of the whiskey was gone, and I was still as energetic as I was before. I wanted to make sure I was getting as many photos as I could of all of my friends in the scene. Moments like that are the ones that are cherished the most. I was invited to karaoke, and I wholeheartedly agreed to attend. I’m not able to tell what happened with that though, but what I can say is my feet began to move all over the place in the Deep Ellum area in full on party mode. It was a lovely night after all and it was much needed after a long week of work.