5,105 Words: Jackie's Place is Better than the Hilton

 Had some fun this morning and left off just as a battle of the bands was warming up... I haven't even introduced the lab-themed band, yet, so I hope tomorrow will be an easy writing day of copying from Katie's blog. I will post this quickly then I am off to pack for a trip to the real Jackie's Place. Can't wait!! 

If she ever wanted evidence of how fucked up most people were, all she had to do was take a look around her. Jackie’s Place was a beacon to misfits (and shitsters) everywhere. The hopeless shuffled up to the bar or crowded around a spirited game of beer pong. Jackie, it was well known, served whatever the hell he pleased, and though it seemed as though he gave no shits about what people wanted, it seemed he always gave them what they didn’t know they needed. A Pabst Blue Ribbon in a paper bag, an oily coffee, or a chipped and stained bowl filled with stale pretzels. It was a crap shoot, but the patrons of Jackie’s Place kept coming back to the game. There was beauty in the ugliness, there was hope in the persistence of life in the face of loss. And you never knew when it might be your lucky day and you might find yourself the winner of a used bag of dog shit, a 6 pack of tang, a whistle, or a dog-eared copy of Foucault for Dummies. It wasn’t the Hilton, no… it was better.

Dylann’s near trance was interrupted as the bell above the door at Jackie’s Place jingled, announcing the arrival of the latest band of misfits, quite literally, a band. It was dim inside Jackie’s Place, the grime on the windows and burned out light bulbs providing just the right ambience. The light streaming through the still open door was dazzling, and cast the four figures who entered in silhouette, so for a moment, Dylann did not know what she was looking at. To further add to the confusion, one of the figures announced their arrival in an arrogant tone that was at odds with the humble atmosphere of Jackie’s Place.

“b.j.P is in the house!” 

And a little more copied from Heather's novel...

“We’re going to destroy you,” he said, his voice dripping with haughtiness.

“Excuse me?” she said, feeling quite put off by his manner, and oddly only slightly alarmed by the threat implicit in his words. Her response seemed to throw him, and the arrogant mask slipped slightly, revealing the scared boy that resides beneath all such masks. Dylann’s heart stirred with pity.

“Oh! You’re not here for the audition?” he asked, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice.

Dylann didn’t know it, but the third Wednesday of every month was audition day- an opportunity for local bands to try their luck at getting a booking at Jackie’s Place, which was known to have the best music, despite all evidence to the contrary.

She offered him an incredulous stare. He held her eyes for only a moment before turning away, chastened. Now that he understood she was not competition, he seemed to relax and recover some of his clearly unearned swagger.

“We are a Rage Against the Machine cover band,” he whispered conspiratorially, as though he were afraid this idea would be stolen, as though this were in any way original. She didn’t know much, but she knew that Rage Against the Machine cover bands were a dime a dozen, although as she looked more closely at the ragtag group accompanying brian j. Pickles, she had to admit they had a different spin on the Rage Against the Machine she remembered. It seemed strange that the band would consist of what looked to her like a jazz saxophone, a child’s electric blue ukulele, a pan flute, and a kick drum. The complete lack of a guitar chilled her to the bone.  But who was she to judge. Wait a minute, was she supposed to judge? Where was Jackie?