Ah, the supposed easy day. my parents came down the night before and put me up in a hotel, a great continental breakfast later they dropped me back off at the venue and i started down hoping to pick up the Ohio Canal bike trail and take it down all the way to akron. it was to fulfill my canal destiny. I had amended to my hotel printed directions but after some second guessing and too many hills south of parma i decided to ask someone where to go. In trimmed Bill(he was trimming his hedges), after some conversation he decided it was easier to just show me the canal path and drove down on his bike with me. This is not the canal I had expected, it was like the old Erie Canal, thin and shallow, partially overgrown, but with flatter paths and smooth roads i sailed on. I met some nice people who purchased me a popsicle, those real fruit kind. wonderful things. all was good until i noticed I was running late. I started to high tail it, but got a bit lost, found a map, found a hill, strained my legs 411-ed(verbing that one) the venue info and finally showed up 20 min late to no one at the bar except the bartended and a 30-something punk named Zack. We all talked a bit, the bartender pushed the show back til 6, waiting for people to show up. Zack left for a bit and upon return promised me 8 people all waiting to listen to me play at the house and tried to get me to leave. Being only 40 minutes in to a 2 hour set I was confused, it was a paying gig, Zack ambiguously ‘asked’ the bartender if I could leave(only by actually asking him ‘we’re cool right?’) tricky devil this one was. I talked to the bartender, and Zack was discouraged that I had to play more, I was not. More people started trickling in toward the end of the set and they were really enjoying it. Zack grew impatient, I got done 2 hours later, started packing up, thanked and apologized to the bartender from trying to leave earlier. he was understanding.
It was a short walk down to the house I was staying at. Zack told me about hopping trains and being the oldest punk around, how the others had sold out and how being a 30 yr old punk helped him get ‘the 19 yr old pussy.’ I started wondering as we walked deeper into the ghetto, he told me about the 12 yr olds trying to prove themselves the people that don’t like him and his dog. he loves his dog. we arrived at a house, where a family and some of their friends were out on the lawn, everyone was out on the lawn, eating, drinking, laughing, just a big old block party. I was introduced to Chris and his girlfriend and the house I was staying it, it was ok, in the process of being rebuilt. kind of dirty, but not bad. it was good times and drinking until they started the fireworks, 4′x4′ flats of fireworks, better than the city’s. Long night, good people.