My Tuesday night started out as any Friday night would for me, drinking cheap beer at a fast rate with no good intentions in mind. My barber touched up my already bad haircut in hopes of catching a glance from a lovely dame sometime throughout the night. It was a seasonably warm night for Philly this April evening, making it ideal weather for a bike cruise down the trolley track strewn Girard Ave to Johnny Brenda’s. Only two of us were embarking on this adventure, myself and my barber, to see the sold out Wavves show with openers FIDLAR and Cheatahs.

We arrived halfway through the Cheatahs set in time to hear a couple songs including their popular catchy tune, “Fountain Park.” We posted up at a prime spot along the end of the bar with easy access to get acknowledgment from the bartenders quickly as well as being able see the stage. I caught a brief conversation beside me between Nate Williams and a recently turned 21 year old kid who acted similar to an eager schoolgirl who just got asked to prom by James Vanderbeek. It didn’t take long before Nate dipped backstage as the place started filling up and to prevent any more pestering idolizers from bothering him.

FIDLAR took the stage and the place became more lively from the get go. Fans began throwing themselves around to the fuzz ridden songs like “No Waves” and “Cheap Beer.” At this point, the booze were slowly beginning to saturate my intuition to make good and irrational decisions were soon to follow. Their bandee desperately tried to keep the mic-stand upright while trying not to ruin his rad new Sweet Valley t-shirt. Once finished, my barber and I stepped outside to gain our composure and puff on a rich boy.

Slurred words and blurred vision began to ensue once I came back in. A shot of Fireball cleared that up along with my sinuses. My barber was the more coherent one between us so he stood his ground at the bar while I pushed forward to get knee deep in the trenches. Wavves came on and they did nothing less than impress the crowd. The ability to stand on my own was inaccessible so I did what any other music-loving drunk would do in this situation, become unruly and rowdy. I pushed back and forth, swayed side to side, and pointed at the stage while shout singing to a mix of unrecognizable songs of old and new. Amidst the moshing, I occasionally stepped out to join my barber for a quick tallboy before returning back to the trenches with my fellow soldiers. Each pint needed to be finished in a timely fashion for there was no chance of bringing it back into the madness. FIDLAR’s front man made an appearance towards the end of the show by jumping into the crowd from the stage. While surfing atop the hooligans, he grabbed the hand of a stranger along the balcony who pulled him up to the second level which was then followed by a flip back into the riled up fans below.

A large portion of the room cleared out once finished leaving only the drunks and groupies behind. My barber stepped out to share a smoke with a girl so I decided to lean on the bar and await their return. Few minutes go by before Steven Pope comes out from backstage and posts up next to me at the bar. What better to do in this situation than to offer a round at Steven’s request. We threw back some double shots of Jameson, which was the last thing one needs after a long night of heavy boozing. Our small talk ended up with an invitation to go backstage to get high. With my barber still nowhere to be found, I thought a quick smoke wouldn’t hurt.

Once backstage, Steven pulled out an apple and begins to pack it with some real deal holy field. I asked, “Why an apple?” something that I haven’t seen since my high school days. He responded, “Easy to dispose of when getting pulled over by simply having someone eat it.” Fair enough. Little did I know, this was the beginning of the end of my night. Hit after hit, I slowly began to feel myself slipping away into a deep abyss of the devil’s lettuce. A couple of girls in the room were trying to engage in conversation with Steven and I but after a couple of hits, neither of us were making coherent responses to their job interview style questions. It wasn’t long before I found myself in a drunken stoned stupor talking to myself in my head so I left the room before I got any worse or any more awkward. I was greeted in the hallway with a big hug from the off-the-walls front man from FIDLAR who treated me as though I was a long lost friend who he hasn’t seen since the playground days. Seemed he was enjoying his night as much as I was. I came back to the bar to find my barber and Nathan chatting it up with some fans and the other band members. My barber gave me this look of disbelief as he watched me walk from backstage higher than the day Snoop Dogg thought it was a good idea to call himself Snoop Lion. We mutually agreed it was about that time we hit the old dusty trail.

The night was still a comfortable cool for our bike ride home. Back up Girard we rode which assisted in helping me sober up, somewhat. Only a block away from the house, we turned onto 19th when my barber pointed and warned me of some broken glass on the road. I looked down to locate this possible night ruiner but in doing so, my arms shifted slightly left. It wasn’t the glass I should have been worried about but instead the lack of ability to control a bike in my state of mind. Next thing I know I find myself face down on the sidewalk with my bike atop of me. I had drifted into the trunk of a parked late 90’s Toyota Corolla. My pride hurt more than the brush burns so without haste, I quickly scooped my bike up and pedaled the last leg back to my place before being seen.

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