Every aspect of old people gave Rube the crawls. Over sharing and funky smells. Codgers sitting on benches chatting up gnarly blue haired old ladies like they were peacocking at the club. Little blue pills in their pockets. Ready to partay.
The entrance hall of the geezer drop-in at the corner of Stanton and Allen, was one of Rube's hunting blinds. Perfect concealment. His targets, clueless. And Grandma and her fuddy-duddy perpetual hard-on pals couldn't whiteness a perp through their clouded cataracts. Like the man at Coney Island's Shoot the Freak used to yell down the boardwalk (till they shuttered the bitch and turned Coney plastic), "Shoooot Da Freak! You c'shoot him, an 'e won shoot back." Perfect.
Spotting her crossing the median, Rube's heart kicked up. He waited till she cornered, twenty more steps, then he jogged in behind.
The Velvet Underground's "I'm Sticking With You" kicked off in his earbuds. Those childish pitched vocals were almost sinister, and that grimy tape-deck quality sound mesmerized. Even if Lou Reed also sang about sucking dick in bathroom stalls. If Rube B Lethal a.k.a. Def Killah was gonna level a rise to universal master of flow and skill--an uncontested champion MC blessing the mic--any chumpchange industry hack knew, influences were sourced from all places. And if some fool ever dared jack his player and claimed Rube's listening choices weren’t legit, he'd puncture their eardrums with a screwdriver. He flicked the Velvet track to loop.
Traversing Roosevelt Park, he eased up as Mioko passed the basketball courts. Some pendejo might holler out, blow Rube's cover. Not that he was sweating. Twenty steps more to the other side of the fence, a group of wrinkly Chinese practiced Tai Chi under the open hoops, their sagging limbs slicing air like Jello.
Lou Reed harmonized with that eerie androgynite, Moe Tucker, "I'm sticking with you, cos I'm made out of glue. Anything that you might do, I'm gonna do too..."
The far side of the court, Mioko stopped. Rube made a lateral shuffle. She was perching in front of some horizontal laying park bench homeless twat, her hand still clutching last night's brown-bag. Rube circled wide as Mioko brought her camera up and snapped. She wound that jack in the box relic like it was some prize, then walked on.
"...You held up a stage coach in the rain. And I'm doing the same..."
Circling in, he tried to imagine what the picture might look like, framing up for it with a finger cube. Puzzling. Where Rube stood, it looked like squandered film.
"...Saw you hanging from a tree. And I made believe it was me..."
Up from the bench skank, Rube scanned the sidewalk on the park’s far side.
His toes wrinkled in his kicks. He’d lost the bitch.
“Fucking amateur hour.”
He moved out past the courts still cursing. Then scoped south.
There she was--a block and a half already. Heading towards China Town. Rube was master of her routine, but she wasn't on it. He bounced across the street, she hooked a right, picking up speed.
"...People going to the stratosphere. Soldiers fighting with the cong..."
Blocks flew by, then SoHo. He tailed her as she darted through the packed streets.
"...but with you by my side I can do anything. When we swing, we hang past right or wrong..."
Shuffling past tourist mobs, cunt models putting on airs, Rube kept pace with her. Any other day he would have been whispering "ecstasy, cocaine, crystal?" down sidewalks this jammed, but today was a more high-priority business.
Rube broke off as Mioko ducked into some home decorating outlet. Paint & Wallpaper. He knew he better cross and wait till she re-emerged. Maybe chug a Coke by the halal cart. Just another Puerto can-kicker on a liquid lunch break. Invisible to the privileged horde. But Rube couldn't help himself. "Naah na-na na-na. Cos I'm made out of glue." Slipping inside, itching his sack, he ducked to the right, pushed to the back. A sixth sense on that shit. He sniffed her out like hot pink slit between a pair of thighs.
She was loading up on half-priced wallpaper. Rube wondered what her pad must look like post burn. As if some chinzy markdown wall decor was really gonna make char-broiled feel homey again. Besides, he couldn't possibly imagine that mishmash of gaudy patterns in her hands working together--but what kind of a pansy ass pato was he for even thinking about that shit? She headed to the register and Rube pulled up his hoodie and bounced.
That scratchy-sweet piano persisted, "...anything that you might do, I'm gonna do too..." but he couldn't even hear it anymore.
A century later, she poked her fine self through the doorway, and for a beat Rube thought she made his ass. But nahh. That Japanese bitch's stare was fierce, always squinting the streets for a photo occasion--but the Rube's skills were fiercer.
Back in the hood, Mioko hoofed home at a clip, loaded down with discount wallpaper. A piece of him was inclined to help her with the load. That maybe they could have a conversation, bridge the gap between their diverse lives, he could slide in beside, pull her up in his arms, and kiss her lips. Rube worked to squash that pussy ass bullshit. But in the deepest recesses of his consciousness Moe and Lou were in agreement, "...I'll do anything for you... Anything you want me too... I'll do anything for you..."
As they narrowed the all too familiar sidewalk lining the projects, Rube sidestepped into a doorway. Precise, professional. Back on his game. A second later, Mioko checked her shoulder to see if she was being followed. Tick tock, Clockwork. White bitches and projects don’t mix.
Rube ducked out of the corner almost hoping she'd double back and find him coming out what she'd no doubt take to be his front door. But she was already half sized, crossing Essex, balancing wallpaper, fumbling for her keys.
"Ohwoahhhh, I'm sticking with you. Ohwoahhh, I'm sticking with you. Ohwoahhhhh..."
The words reverberated his eardrums, robust and clear, vying for attention in Rube's cortex… but the rest of his brain simmered overtime, sorting and connecting memories and future plans as he imagined her cornering Ludlow, inserting her key, before watching the door slowly inch shut behind her, a foot in the jam, then slipping in upstairs, unseen, unlocking her crib, slamming her to the ground, his tongue licking the sweltering pores of her tattooed skin, as her flesh dissolved piecemeal, limbs, head and torso, into the inner bowls of darkness in the most macabre regions of Rube’s mind.
CHAPTER 02
CHAPTER 03
CHAPTER 04
CHAPTER 05
CHAPTER 06
CHAPTER 07
CHAPTER 08
CHAPTER 09
UPDATE: LOOKING FORWARD - CHAPTER 10
BEHIND THE KEYBOARD
Lou Reed is New York to me. And always will be. CBGB’s is split between a fancy hotdog restaurant and a John Varvatos store now, but if you go down and loiter in the Lower East Side at four in the morning, you still get a little oily residue under foot, the breeze of of an “Ohwoahhhhh”... because through it all Lou and the Velevet Underground are sticking with you in this town and no matter how many massive glass towers replace the cool old shops and tenements, and how many times they pave over the cobblestones, their music will always be here to stay.
Yours In The Chain,
Doug Karr
SPECIAL THANKS to my wife @zenmommas for years of support during the writing process, @ericvancewalton for his trailblazing, inspired collaboration and incredible guidance, @andrarchy for his mind blowing insight and friendship, @bakerchristopher for being an inspiration as a human artist and bro, @complexring for his brilliance and enthusiasm, Masie Cochran, Taylor Rankin and @elenamoore for their skillful help in editing the manuscript, and to @opheliafu for the fantastic illustrations she created exclusively for the novel's launch on Steemit and to Elena Megalos for her wonderful character illustrations. I’d also like to thank Eddie Boyce, Jamie Proctor, Katie Mustard, Alan Cumming, Danai Gurira, Stephan Nowecki, Ron Simons, Dave Scott, Alden Karr, Missy Chimovitz, my dad Andy Karr and late mother Wendy, and everyone else who helped lead me to this moment.
I am a Brooklyn based writer, film & commercial director, and crypto-enthusiast, my projects include @HardFork-series an upcoming narrative crypto-noir and my novel Dwelling will soon be premiering exclusively on Steemit, and you can check out more of my work at dougkarr.com, piefacepictures.com, and www.imdb.com/name/nm1512347
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