Irrelevant Snapshots of the 2 Week Tour, the 4 Day Interlude, and the 6 Day Vacation

In Green Bay--watched a guitarist for the opening band cover "The Witch" by The Sonics, right arm covered in an Ace Frehley tattoo, smirking proudly at the small audience as he soloed. In Kalamazoo--the temperature cooling off in the middle of our set, playing "Kamikaze" and looking out the window, seeing the giant black storm clouds form, and the rain in thick drops, red shirt 3 shades darker from the sweat. In Jackson, MI--stopping at Sparks Park and climbing a hill overlooking the woods below, feeling like C. Thomas Howell in "Red Dawn." In Hamtramck--the $2 bread loaf and pound of thinly-sliced turkey, watching the Islamic women in black covering everything except their eyes as we sit in front of the Polish Deli on Jos. Campau St., the blue street signs eaten away by rust. In Cleveland--the Sparks vomit spilling onto the amplifier, a chunky dayglo orange. In Pittsburgh--lukewarm beer in a hot van on a desolate ramshackle street. On the PA TPKE--stealing a Pizzeria Uno pizza because nobody was around to take the money, ashamed of how poorly this pizza represents my adopted city. In Brooklyn--the sudden crash of a broken beer bottle in the bar while talking to Sarabird on the phone outside the club, knowing it came from somebody in the band--the Williamsburg Bridge roaring high overhead. In Charlottesville, VA--Bo Bice from "American Idol" performing in an outdoor amphitheatre at the far end of a brick street for pedestrians only decked out like an olde-tyme smalltown--the roar of applause heard from the tiny burrito joint where we would play. In Durham--rocks crunching under feet, walking down railroad tracks to drink in the woods. In Columbus--the steady whoosh of an a/c window unit on a creaking comfortable bed. In Bloomington--the harsh austerity of a Kroger after poor sleep in the back of the van. In Lafayette--the gossip of the Borders' employees as they stocked more "Left Behind" books. In Chicago--the drunk yuppie midget trying to pick a fight with Justin, yelling, "Why did you ash in my taco?" In Longwood--hitting the gray "ON" switches to the buttons marked "Spa Pump" and "Spa Heater." In Winter Park--soft kisses with Sarabird hidden away in one of the empty rooms of the Tiffany exhibit of the Morse Museum. In New Smyrna Beach--the rapid footsteps of the packs of little birds running along where the surf comes in. In St. Petersburg--piped-in calypso music at the outdoor sandwich shop overlooking the yacht harbor, steel-drummed covers of "Pretty Woman" and "Johnny B. Goode." In Altamonte Springs--hazy recollections of the past in a dark backyard, smiling from the medicines, knowing it would end this way, and a quiet 4AM drive down desolate streets that feel like yours no matter how much you've hated them. In Orlando--the 3 hacked palm trees rising above the new Walgreens against the darkening cornflower blue sky.