Category Archives: Prior Writing

These are posts that were written before The Great Southeast Asia Trip of 2014. They’re about Matt’s life adventuring in Washington DC and nearby locales.

Fuck That Guy

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Matt quivers with excitement. With speed and efficiency, the worker-bee stagehands set to the task of deconstructing the arcane knobs and joists of the drum kit and instrument stands left behind by the excellent, but forgettable, opening act. Matt is on the main floor of the Black Cat, a decidedly grungy music venue and nightclub off the main drag in the District of Columbia’s stalwart U Street party neighborhood. The low-ceilings and can-lights of the venue offer no respite from the balmy air outside. The ink blot stamped on his hand by the ticket-takers at the front door is already starting to smudge and run in the damp heat.

“I picked a helluvah day to quit drinking”, he mutters, wiping his thumb at the deformed ideograph.

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Austin Lost and Bound: Part I

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Matt pulled up to the airport after a long cab ride out of Pittsburgh with just enough time to catch his flight to Austin. What a perfectly timed weekend he’d been having! He reached into his pants and was surprised to be met with an unusual absence… His wallet was missing! He’d left it almost an hour away at Mike’s. The reluctant adventurer just shook his head.

He paid the driver with a photo of the credit card from his phone and raced through to security. He’d boarded a flight before without ID, there was no reason to believe his white male privilege wouldn’t work again. But this line, it was outrageous! People snaked back from the checkpoint, mazed around pylons, and continued further back into the main rotunda. The looks on their faces making it plainly obvious that they weren’t moving quickly.

Matt nope’d out of the line and explained his situation to a nearby guard, concluding with:

“And if you need to strip me naked, look through all my stuff, whatever, that’s fine, but I need to get on that flight.” This was a work trip and, despite recent events that might prove otherwise, he was a responsible adult now.

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Austin Lost and Bound: Part II

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Matt checked the reservations board and found his name and spot number. The rental car he’d reserved was a ways away so he stepped over the chain link fence and exhaustedly wandered the streetlamp-lit parking lot, desperately fighting the urge to rub his left eye as it buzzed with spring-time allergies and sleepiness. When he found it, the silver-gold sedan, he didn’t even register what make or model it was. He tossed in his bag and then himself. The dashboard clock burst to life at a turn of the ignition. It was 12:53 am.

He inched up to the exit booth slowly, wary that they’d turn him away. Word on the street was that you needed an actual driver’s license to rent one of these machines. Well, Matt would see about that.

“Hi,” Matt greeted the twenty-something girl on the other side of the-almost-his car’s window, “just to get this out of the way, I don’t have my actual license, but I totally have a picture of it?” He tried to smile, but all his face managed was a grimace. His eye felt like it was made of bees.

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Supercuts

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Matt waltzed into the Supercuts in Tenleytown, the first neighborhood he’d lived in when arriving in DC. He rarely came up here anymore these days, not since the land itself had rejected him by sending a flood his way. Not since he’d picked up and moved into an apartment way downtown in Chinatown. Yet here he was again, having rolled himself up to the northwest heights of Washington. Because he was a man on a mission. He was here to get his hair cut.

The bell attached to the sturdy glass door tinkled as he entered. He looked around and saw no one else being served, just him and the handful of Hispanic barbers. Were they still called barbers if they were women? Surely the title of ‘Barbarella’, while alluding to both their Spanish and feminine natures, entailed far more galactic responsibility than merely cutting hair? Matt was interrupted from his reverie of zero gravity stripteases by their excited greetings.

“You! You’re the Superman!” the barberella in the back called out. He’d shown her the picture of his last Halloween costume a few months prior figuring they’d appreciate it. The Superman logo shaved into his chest and Supercuts, how could that combination not be incredible? Of course they’d appreciated it and remembered him.

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