the Performance

Monday. I’m standing on Király utca watching people cars bikes pass me by. I’m looking up the street, waiting. Drinking a beer. The next one stands by me, on the curb. I wonder how the hell I’m going to open it. I might have to use one of my keys. I am not looking forward to it.

It’s Dave’s night. The performance. He invited us via text and I thought, well what the hell I did contribute I should be here. Problem is, he says its four hours long. Impossible.

He was right.

I see Jaro. Walking toward me in a leather jacket watching people. Those shifty eyes. You get shifty eyes here. I don’t know why. So, he says (his favorite intro). What now? I look down at my beer. I’m not sure, I say. I peer at the bottle in my hand. I think I’m drunk after one beer. Is that possible? No I must be imagining it. We start to talk about religion. Fucked up Mormons. His favorite topic.

I look up and there’s Anne-Marie riding a bike. What? Anne-Marie! I yell out. Her face turns as she passes behind the next building. I start running. Jaro is confused.

Five minutes later. I work with her. Uh huh. No really. Yeah I know. I didn’t introduce you, sorry. Yeah I know. You’re bad at that. Yeah…

Turns out she lives right up the street from the ‘art gallery’ we are going into. I say ‘art gallery’ because its not a usual art gallery. It’s a large building with an enclosed courtyard and very visible elevator in the middle of it which couples go in and make out for the masses but the floor is glass on the level, so the underground cellar (part of the art gallery) has the strange attribute of being able to see the people above you through the glass.

While Jaro and I were down there looking at the costumes after the show, two girls wearing skirts ran off the glass as we were admiring the glass. The glass. I’m not sure if this is a common occurrence, but we were laughing our heads off.

Anyway, I’m bandying about. Our project was last. Dead last. Three hours of waiting. Anne-Marrie left after an hour. We’re just sitting there watching these crazy thin girls wearing nothing and looking at our (non existent) watches. When it finally did play (below) it was good. But we realized that we had no idea what we were editing for. If we had creative license, access to the suit, and whatever else, things would be different.

It was a competition. And we did not win. The judges took an hour and a half deliberating, and in the end chose the wrong group.

So it goes.