Thursday night out

Last night was alright. I spent it with some friends I don't get to see that often. We hung around at the ex-squat, which has been turned into an autonomous cultural center, where I was invited to play a chill set. So I met up with Cloud, had a beer and went inside the maze of rooms and halls.

There's a big opening in the wall, slightly but noticeably bigger than a regular door. The sliding doors were open, but I still couldn't see inside, since it was covered with a big black cloth. I move the cloth away and suddenly I'm feeling like I've just stepped from the Witch's Closet into Narnia.

It's a rather small space, much smaller than the rest of those in the squat, but it's way larger than anyone's living room. Compared to the rest of the squat (which was at this time insanely clean, shiny and awkwardly scented), this room really does look like someone's flat. A bit like mine, in fact.

Considering the vast size of the space, it still looks way-too-obviously crammed with stuff. It's like someone had to move suddenly and just dumped all this here. But it certainly has the at-home feeling to it.

There's a couple of armchairs, two big couches and some chairs to fill in the space. Some bean bags have also been left lying around for whoever needs to squeeze in. There are ― from what I can count ― seven or so computers which the guys use to surf, play games or mix music. They're Linux people after all. But mainly psychedelic.

There's three pieces of string art illuminated by a couple of black-light lamps lying half hidden around the room. It barely gives you an idea of the space around you, but the bright-lit threads serve as a form of lighting nevertheless.

There's an L-shaped bookshelf in the corner and a small kitchen squeezed into the corner right opposite. There's a mocca maker on the cooker which reminds me of India. Change subject.

I look around the room trying to absorb whatever I can catch glimpses of in the half dark. I see a poster of Patrick Swayze and some penguin drawings on the wall. I notice Cloud is also looking around, as if she's trying to vectorize the whole area in order to be able to get out of it when the time comes.

So we sit there, drink beer and wine and spirit, chain smoke cigarettes and it's all fuzzy and nice and warm and we're thrilled not to have to be hanging out outside. Or in bars, which are overcrowded anyway. I'm playing some music, but the mixer is broken, so I can't really hear what I'd like to play next. I just put my headphones back in the backpack and played spontaneously. It was a new experience and the feedback was okay. From all those nine or so people that were there.

So, after six hours ― which felt like two and a half ― we head off home. They guys came by car, but since I live so far they call it Mongolia, I usually just thank myself for the offered ride and hit the tram station. It's okay outside and not that cold really. Besides, I could use some fresh air.

I'm standing at the tram stop and checking out what's going around. It's late Thursday (or better said, early Friday), so there's not many people out. On the opposite side of the street is a punk, trying hard to hold on to her Taft-secured coiffed styling, roll a cigarette and keep as less possible surface of her bottom on the cold pavement as possible.

I think I giggled a little, but I couldn't hear it due to the loud trance music coming of out my headphones. My night tram isn't coming for another twenty minutes, so I take another one that comes after only a couple of minutes, simply to cut the journey into smaller pieces. Not the ride home ― journey.

Night trams during colder times aren't what you'd call my favourite thing, since they're most often full of drunkards using the opportunity to warm up a bit. But it being a Thursday and all, I manage to take a seat. Diagonally from me, there are three girls sitting and one standing up, holding on to the one who's squeezed in the middle. Not really holding on; more like patting her on the back, since she seems completely spaced out. There's a handkerchief by her feet on the floor, so I figure she'd already vomited and her girlfriends tried to cover it up. Well, ain't that sweet...

They're all wearing black except one, who's got brown leather boots. She's the one who looks the most scared of them all, maybe because she's trying to figure out how to get her friend home and trying to convince herself that everything will be okay. I think to myself that I might ask them if they need some help (since heaven knows I've been the one who's spaced out oh so many times), but I see a series of images in my head ― like in Guy Richie's films, you know ― and I retreat. I reckon I'd seem like a total perv anyway.

The patter seems to be the most confident and I figure she's going to work it all out. I get out at a stop, hoping that I've hit the right one. Cloud got me some kind of a pastry earlier, so I nibble on it and cross the block to get to my tram stop. I zip up my jacket, but it's not really that cold in fact. I roll another cigarette and it seems like it's the five-hundredth that evening. I don't care, since a track by Ocelot is playing and I feel like dancing.

I often start moving waiting to cross the street or at the bus stop, so I often get looks, but I don't really care. So many people are crazy in this city anyway and I assure myself (and you) that I'm probably one of the less creepy ones you can run into. There's some more people coming to the tram stop; three girls and a guy. One of them is also completely wasted and I can see her make up all smeared up from meters away. I wear specs, so that distance is worth mentioning.

She sits down on the bench with her head in her lap and the whole bunch seem to be talking to her in shifts. She starts yelling, so they take a step back and the guy walks away, clearly pissed off. One of the more-or-less sober girls follows him and the other one is blankly standing in front of the messed-up Witch of the East. And she's not happy about it. She's checking her watch every now and then. Eyeing me eyeing her. I pretend to look in the distance. And I squint ― that's my distant look.

I have no idea what's going on actually, since there's some out-of-this-world Norwegian forest sound wrecking my ear drums and I don't really care. I'm having my cigarette and I don't really care. It all looks like a mute drama to me; or like a pre-audition rehearsal in front of the jury-occupied room door. The drunk dragon is flapping her arms around, her outfit completely disobedient to her moves. The friend is pretty much pissed off beyond recognition by now and is as me looking forward to the tram finally coming any minute now.

The tram is taking too long and I'm sucked back into my music universe. I reckon it must be pretty weird seeing someone dance in the city in the middle of the night, but it's one of the little joys in my life. I mean, it's not like I'm using some MC Hammer moves or what not ― I just don't suppress the urges that I get from the music and I simply move to it.

I think to myself again how it's a crazy world and I add another mental check in my notebook. By this time, I'm already smoking my third cigarette. When I exhale, I can't really tell where the cigarette smoke ends and the frozen breath begins.