Day 2 Baltimore, MD
BLAKE
UM, SO — IS IT OKAY if I step in here for a minute? Sam and Max — they’re great. I think we all got a little richer the day they asked Roxie to help them start a band. And even though she growls at them sometimes, I know she thinks so, too.
But the thing is, I think there’s more to this story than those two guys will tell you.
I think it’s a story about cooperation, about mutual aid, about building the kind of society we want to live in.
I wouldn’t say Sam and Max are radicals, exactly.
Their hearts are in the right place, and they vibe with the whole smash the state ethos, the sense that we’re living in a crumbling world being brought to its knees by capitalism.
But they’re mostly here for the music, and that’s okay.
We need music. We need art and dancing and writing and joy — and if mainstream culture isn’t giving it to us the way we want, we should be able to nurture the kind of art we want to see in our community.
There’s nothing wrong with what Sam and Max are doing.
But me? I’m here for answers. For solidarity. For an end to war and bigotry and income inequality. For a healthy planet. For the freedom to love. And the people I know, my friends in this community, are fighting for the same things.
I can’t wait to reconnect with some of my friends along this tour.
We’re in Baltimore, pulling up to the loading dock behind a conveniently neglected industrial building on the edge of town.
It’s one of those stately structures from an era when even warehouses and factories were well built, with arched windows and high ceilings, the facade carefully planned for maximum harmony.
But now it’s a squat, owned by some shadowy capitalist who has decided to look the other way from the artists, musicians and activists who have taken over its spaces.
Tonight, this building will serve as our venue and our accommodations.
Roxie puts the van into park, and I hop out of the passenger seat. “Dave! Wren!”
I take the stairs two at a time, giving my friends a bear hug.
Dave is a stocky guy with gauged-out ears and a beard, and Wren is his partner, her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail.
I first met Dave and Wren a few years ago when we — you know what, I don’t think I should write that story down.
Security culture is important to us, which means we don’t share our business until we’re sure we can trust someone.
And it also means that introductions are important, that when you bring new people into a community space — like I’m doing with the guys right now — you are responsible for how they act and what they do.
Max is the first one out of the car, gamboling like an overeager puppy, and Sam follows, always his shadow. Roxie scowls and shoves her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, but that’s just how she is. Gosh, I love her.
“Can I introduce you all? Dave, Wren — these are my friends Max and Sam. And you already know Roxie, of course.”
Max sticks out a hand, always charming. “Thanks for having us, guys. We’re really grateful to be here.”
“We loved your EP, and we can’t wait to hear you!” Dave replies. “Can we help you load in?”
“Music to my fucking ears,” Max grins, and Sam nods in agreement.
As we start to unload the van, I can just tell that this is going to be a great night.
MAX
“Hey man, are you doing okay?”
Sam’s hand is on my shoulder as he leans over the back of the couch, and that feels really nice, so I stick mine on top of it. Mmm. “Dude, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just seem like — I dunno, one more drink and you’re actually going to become one of the couch cushions.”
“That would be nice. I would be so soft.” I loll my head back to look up at him. “No worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Okay, if you say so. But give me your phone.”
Sam holds out his hand, trying to look stern when actually he looks cute as fuck. And yeeaahh, I’ve been known to call that fucking slag Krista when I’m like this. So I pull my phone out of my pocket and I put it in his palm.
“I love you, man,” I mumble, giving him what I’m sure is a winning smile
“You’re nuts.” As he leaves, Sam touches my hair, light as a hummingbird, and then he heads off to somewhere else in the room. Probably to do something really cool. He’s great.
The girl sitting next to me is looking at me with one eyebrow lifted. Her name is … Linda? Laura? Lisa? Lindsey? Linoleum? It definitely has to be Linoleum. That’s a good fuckin’ song, “Linoleum.”
Oh, I should probably also say that it’s after our set, the show went great, everybody loved us and it was awesome. I’m not so much of a dick that I’m drinking before I play. Well, not this much, anyway.
Anyway, Linoleum is eyeballing me, so I eyeball her right back. “What?”
“Nothing.” She’s doing that thing where she’s sitting up all straight with her hands folded so it doesn’t look like she’s as shitfaced as I am, but I can still tell. I’m onto you, Linoleum.
“Oh, you wanna know about — that’s just my Sam.
” I wave vaguely behind my head. “He has this — I dunno, older brother energy? Because he really is an older brother. He has three little siblings and his parents are conservative shitbags who put lots of pressure on him all the time so he just takes care of people and does responsible shit like actually going to class. And so with me he’s like — wait, but that’s not right because actually I’m older. So I guess he’s my little brother.”
“Are you the older brother in your family, too?” she asks. I’m pretty sure she’s just being polite. Linoleum is nice.
“Do I fucking look like it?” I feel like my eyebrows are doing their own cartoon character thing, so I take another swig of my Pbr.
That’ll calm them down. “Nah, I’m the baby that my parents had to try to save their marriage but I guess I sucked because my dad split when I was two and my mom married some asshole. All the daddy issues, right here.”
“Hey, save some daddy issues for me,” she shoots back. “You guys are cute together though, even if it’s weird that you call your boyfriend your brother.”
“Whyyyy does everyone keep saying that? He’s not my boyfriend, even if I would be fucking lucky if I was looking for a boyfriend because he’s AMAZING.” I try to look stern. “Did Krista tell you? Are you trying to be like Krista or something?”
That’s not fair of me. She’s nothing like Krista. I’m pretty sure Krista had three heads and all of them had green teeth but Linoleum is a cute little goth chick.
Now she’s looking at me like I’m the one with three heads. “Who the fuck is Krista?”
“My bitch ex,” I mutter darkly. “Dumped me right before tour.”
Linoleum makes a noise like an angry cat. “Okay, now you’ve killed the vibe. You were cute when I thought you were gay but this drunk misogynist pity me shit? Gag.”
“Sowwy,” I pout, and she looks like she can’t decide whether she wants to barf or crack up, so maybe I haven’t struck out yet. “Does this mean we’re not gonna make out? Because I was sorta getting this vibe like I thought we were gonna make out.”
She glares at me for a long time, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get slapped. But then she shrugs her shoulders. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but — fine. Just — nothing but kissing, okay? And only because I find you strangely compelling.”
“I can be strangely compelling.” I slide — pour? — across the couch towards her. “And I promise to keep my hands in only the most gentlemanly places.”
“Just shut up and kiss me, weirdo,” she groans. So I do.
SAM
“Ow, what the fuck?” I rub my upper arm as Roxie pulls her fist back. “What was that for?”
She frowns. “You’re fucking staring. Quit doing that shit.”
“Am not,” I insist.
Okay, I am. I mean, I’m trying to pay attention to the conversation around me, which has been pinging around various topics in local and national politics for the last twenty minutes or so, but in reality, my eyes keep flicking to the corner, where Max is wrapped around some girl who isn’t me.
I don’t know why it should get under my skin so much.
It’s not like this is the first time, especially on nights when we’re high on life after a show.
But I can’t stop picking at it, wishing for an alternate reality where everything isn’t so fucking stupid.
Roxie clicks her tongue. “Hey, they’re watching riot porn across the hall. Want to come with me?”
“Sure, okay.”
I peel myself off the couch and follow her out of the room. When we’re alone, she turns to look at me, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “He’s a fucking moron and nobody should know that better than you. And you deserve to be happy.”
“Roxie —”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t make me fucking sing about it. This shit is fucking exhausting.”
We reach the door to the other loft space, and she stops once more. “I’m not gonna fucking hug you or anything. But he will.”
Blake is sitting on a hideous floral couch with two other guys, his eyes intent on the TV, which is showing images of some sort of protest. When he sees me, he sits up straight and pats the seat beside him.
I cross the room to sit down, and Blake drapes an arm around my shoulders, scritching the back of my head. “What are we watching?” I ask.
“It’s a documentary about the WTO protests in Seattle a few years ago,” he explains.
On the screen, riot cops begin pepper spraying a group of peaceful protesters, and the whole room erupts into boos.
I settle against Blake’s side, and I know it’s a consolation prize. But I guess it feels good to know that somebody sees me, even if I don’t have everything that I want.
ROXIE
These two cunts are going to blow up this whole fucking tour, I can tell.