Tonight, I did what I thought I wasn't going to do.

Restless, bored, wanting to get out, and in the mood for music, I headed in the direction of what was once Onyx. Last time I was there a couple months ago, they had changed their Friday format back to something that resembled the once fun club, but the crowds had been extremely sparse, and the redecoration was less than impressive. But tonight, I didn't care. I wanted to go back, even if just to feel the music and dance around in an empty room.

I arrived at nearly 2200. Judging by the state of the nearby parking lot, attendance had not improved. When I attempted to enter, I found another surprise. The door was locked. The place was closed. I hadn't checked the website for notices. Doh!

Going to there now, here is what it says:

June 1, 2004:

Club 314 is closed indefinitely
and will be under new
ownership soon.

More details will be posted as
soon as they are available.

Have a nice day

I wandered back in the direction of the car, and contemplated going straight back home. But I didn't want to do that. It was raining outside. What was I going to do, walk around in the rain?

Well, yes, actually. I decided to wander in the direction of downtown. There seemed to be an unusually large number of people, most of them black, out and about, congregating on the sidewalks. As I passed, several of them nodded to me in a friendly manner. One of them asked if I could spare a dollar, and I declined.

As I waited to cross at one of the street corners, a man walking in the same direction stopped, and we talked for a moment. He introduced himself, I told him my name, and we shook hands. He asked me if I minded if he walk with me for a while. I said, "No problem. I'm bored, and the club I wanted to go to is closed, and I wouldn't mind a little company." So we talked while walking and got to know each other a little bit.

Then it came. "Hey man, could you spare me a couple dollars so I could get something to eat, or maybe a drink?"

I contemplated. I considered it a fairly likely bet that this man was homeless. I was honestly thinking about handing him a little bit money, and had actually begun to pull out my wallet. I felt sorry for him. Even if it would just be feeding his addiction, isn't handing out a few moments of temporary bliss a worthwhile enough thing to give, especially to someone who has so little else to cling to?

Then a better idea occurred. "Why don't I eat and drink with you? Would you mind if we go somewhere together, and I'll buy you something?"

He got very excited about this idea, and said he knew of a place right around the corner. He led me straight to a liquor store. He said he would wait outside while I went in and picked out something for both of us. He said he was confident I could find something good. Obviously, he wasn't comfortable going in with me.

(Anybody remember the taxi driver from Total Recall? This guy's speech and mannerisms reminded me very much of that character.)

I went inside the store, wandered down the aisles, and had a moment to contemplate while I pretended to look at the wine. What. The. Fuck. Am. I. Doing?

Was I really going to go through with this? Yes, I decided that I was. If I really wanted to, I could find a way to bail, but I did not want to leave this poor stranger sitting outside waiting, nor did I want to disappoint him. I was going to buy something, and I was going to drink with him. I located the chilled beer. Something that wouldn't get either of us too terribly drunk.

I managed to find some cheap 24 oz bottles of Corona, and bought 2 of them from the cashier, whose own self-admittedly feeble attempts to be a comedian failed on me.

Outside, my new friend was waiting for me. I showed him the beer, and he was very excited and appreciative. He suggested that we drink it in my car.

That would be taking it to the next level. Did I trust him enough to let him into my car? At this point, I was convinced that he wasn't going to do me any harm, but did I want to let this stranger into my car? Well, it was raining outside. But of even greater concern to me was the possibility of getting crap from a cop about violating statutes which prohibit drinking out of open containers outdoors on public property. (I'm not versed on the specifics of Denver law in this area, but I know such things exist in many places.) The car would be safer. Enclosed.

I led him to it, and he sat in the passenger seat while I fumbled with my knife trying to open the bottles. (My knife, given to me many many many cycles ago as a birthday present by someone who had been to Europe does not feature a bottle opener, but I forced it to work.)

As we drank, I learned a little more about him, and he about me. He used to work in construction, smoothing cement, until he was laid off. He lived in Oklahoma then. He came to Colorado fairly recently ("just a couple weeks ago" according to him, but I had reason to doubt the accuracy of this time estimate), and he has been hanging out here looking for a way up in life since he came on the bus. This is a down period for him right now, but he has faith that he will work his way back up. He thanked me repeatedly for the beer. I thanked him for the company.

He asked if we could go for a ride somewhere.

I asked if there was any particular place he wanted to go.

He said it might be fun to just "ride around" for a while. Actually, this sounded like a decent idea. Why not give the man a ride? I wondered how long had it been since he last got to ride in a car?

His car had broken down before he left Oklahoma, he told me. He had left it there. His parents are both dead. His sister lives in another state. He has no one. But he keeps his spirits up, has faith, and is confident that he will find a way. "I am a survivor," he said adamently.

"Yes, I believe you are," I replied. I wasn't joking.

He held my beer as I started up the car, and drove around the neighborhood. We listened to some of the music of Deep Red, which is what happened to be in my cd player at the time. He said he liked the mellow-ness of it.

He asked me to promise not to get angry if he told me a secret, and I agreed. He confessed to me that he smokes crack every night. I wasn't surprised, nor was I angry. I just listened, understood, and politely declined when he asked if I wanted to smoke some with him. I did ask if it was really expensive, because he had said earlier that he no longer does weed because the price is too high these days.

He replied that no, the price of crack isn't so bad. Since I don't keep up on the market prices of these things, I accepted what he said, but there is clearly more to this than what he was telling. That's ok. I know -- only in an intellectual sense -- addiction of that magnitude can do strange things to a person.

Inevitably, the topic of the conversation turned to girls. He said he thought I should have no trouble finding some who would be into me, and I explained that I have a tendency to be ridiculously shy. At this, he suggested, "Let's go find ourselves one right now, and don't worry, I'll do all the talking. Just drive down Colfax and we'll find us a good one."

Since Colfax wasn't far away, and I was in a what-the-hell-whatever mood (and I knew there was no chance in hell this guy was going to find anyone, especially in this rain), I headed for Colfax, and we drove down it a ways. Before long, it became abundantly clear that he was talking about exactly what I suspected he had been talking about without saying directly until now. We were going to get a girl to share, and I was obviously going to be the one to pay her.

No. This was my limit, but I played along until he got to talking about how much to pay. "You just rememeber, she's only there for fun, so don't be giving her too much money. Just get what you need from her, and don't give her more than a little bit." Everything up until this point had been amusing, but these statements offended something very deep within me.

I stopped the car and parked. "That is not the kind of fun I want to have."

Looking back now, I suppose I could have been clearer in my statement. He may well have taken my statement to mean that I don't believe in paying for sex, which would be inaccurate to say the least (although I wasn't really in the mood for it on this particular night anyway). Aside from the fact that this entire escapade was turning ridiculous, I was annoyed at his disrespect for something that should be honored. But I didn't want to go into the intracacies of it, so I just left it at that.

He said, "I understand. No problem, no problem."

He handed me back my beer, and as the car sat parked, we talked some more about life, our situations, and whatever else men who are drinking talk about. Right in that space of time, we had a few genuinely real, honest moments. Nothing held back, nothing judged.

I even agreed to write down my phone number, in case he wants to call he at a later time. As to whether he actually will, I don't know. As to whether I'll ever want to talk to him later, I don't know either. I have my doubts about both, but we'll see.

After we finished our beer, he said he was hungry, and asked if I would buy him a sandwich somewhere. At this point, there was no hesitation. Of course I would.

We drove around, in search of a satisfactory fast food place (he had a couple ideas, but the place he really wanted chicken from turned out to be closed). Eventually, we ended up at one (a place whose name I don't remember, but it's not a major chain) where the main dining area was closed, but the drivethru was open, but it had a long line of cars waiting.

He told me he was so hungry that he didn't want to wait around in the car, and suggested we go to the 7-11 across the street for a sandwich instead. We had been driving around looking for a while, and he told me he was not only hungry, but needed some food in his stomach to dampen the effects of the beer. Honestly, I had started to feel fairly light-headed myself. 24 oz of cheap yet fairly potent beer can do that. My better judgement was starting to tell me it might not be the best idea to be driving, but...

We went to the 7-11 across the street. I noticed the cop car in the 7-11 parking lot just after had accidentally made an illegal left turn. Thankfully, the cop car did not move. I couldn't tell whether it was even occupied.

Again, he did not want to go inside the store with me, and asked if I could get him a hot dog and some orange juice. So much for the myth than junkies only want alcohol. See, they just have their priorities straight. First get the beer taken care of, and then it's time for food. It makes perfect sense to me.

(Actually, in the case of this guy, my theory is that he's probably not even the least bit addicted to alcohol, but crack instead, as he told me. But he wasn't going to turn beer down either. Periodically, he had been asking if I could give him a couple dollars, and I always refused, to which he said, "I understand," and backed off.)

I realized that I was taking a bit of a chance, leaving my newfound acquaintance sitting in my car while I went inside the store. If he had really had a mind to, he could have run off with my cds and portable player. But I sensed that this person would attempt no such thing. My instincts were correct.

Inside the 7-11, as I went around getting sandwiches and juice (orage for him, spicy v8 for me), I saw the cop. I tried to walk around looking as if I was totally sober, even as my head felt increasingly woozy. Apparently, I did a passing job. The cop, friendly enough, said "Hi" as I passed, and I returned the greeting before he purchased his items and left.

In addition to the hot dog, I got an extra sandwich to give to the man, since a hot dog didn't seem like much to me, and he might get hungry later. He was very grateful when I gave the food to him. We sat and ate it in the car.

Again, he asked me if I could give him some money. He said he wanted to buy some pussy, as he hadn't had any in a long time. I was sympathetic, but again said no.

(This whole episode actually turned out to be a very good real life lesson in setting boundries for me, in addition to being interesting in other ways.)

He talked about needing money to catch a bus. I didn't entirely refuse this, but I didn't hand him money immediately either. He asked if I could drop him at 17th and Pearl (that's the Pearl St in Denver, not Boulder), near where we had met. I agreed.

As we drove back, he thanked me for everything, and I wished him luck in his endeavors. It became clear that we were both starting to get a little edgy, and ready for this encounter to be over. It had been fun for a while. We had each taken a little step into each other's unfamiliar world. Finding yourself in someone else's world can be fun at first, but after a while, if it goes on for too long, no matter who it is, you just get tired of it, and want to get back to what you know. Return to what you're comfortable with. That which makes sense.

Before exiting the car, he made a final request for money. I said if he needed change for the bus, I had some quarters, and began to dig them out of Tobias's change compartment. I would give him bus fare, if that was what he needed.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it." He didn't want my change. (Several times during our talks, he had informed me of his desire to become self-sufficient again, and how he didn't want to be dependent on me or anyone else for his livelihood. I believe his desire was sincere, though perhaps hopelessly deluded when considered in the context of crack addiction.)

He got out of the car, orange juice in hand, sandwich in pocket, and stood up on the corner as I pulled away.

Well, that certainly wasn't what I expected this evening to be.

I don't regret a minute of it. Every moment can bring an unexpected surprise if you're willing to look for it. Take the challenge.

Tomorrow, I meet with $mentor[0], and we plan to witness for ourselves whether Michael Moore's latest much-talked-about creation lives up to the hype. I believe it will be fun. And now I have another good little story to tell as well.