Mid-night, poured from a violently torn-apart tiny astro-pack left hours ago atop an elongated slab desk, fronting that room’s glossy painted black door, we tossed back handfuls of Ace’s pricey spicy toasted almonds.

Glazed over on arrival, we had zonked out on an oh-so-soft mattress.

Now standing there, in that small dark room next to each other, we smiled satisfied, drilling in each other’s rapacious rocker eyes, chewing fast and furious. S. on vocals and I would emerge from a fog on percussion tomorrow night, ran a thought; then, it started.

Reflexively S. shot up her leather clad arm, razor-sharp Goth painted nails’ desperately dipping below a liquid-tight black tee, savagely scratching her head’s base, as my much tattooed arm darted overhead, jabbing wildly, too, at what had just BITTEN ME! In a flash, our eyes re-affixed themselves upon one another, terror and shock burned mated to radical fear and rage: B_ _ B_GS, I shouted as she screamed. Down ACE’s telltale black painted hall’s corridor we raced, our heavy metal door self-slamming on our as_ _s.

Eternity passed at Ace-in-the-hole’s solo elevator; fingering our cell phones, agent Joe re-booked us, elsewhere!

P.S. On arrival, greeted on 29th by scary chanting: directly across the street, a nifty BASEMENT Mosque, with crowds of mean looking men shooting on the sidewalks (both sides) at one another in several languages: net effect; ceaseless chanting: CREEPY LOCALE BABY!