Brother Ali-The Truth is Here

"You don't give money to the bums
on a corner with a sign bleeding from their gums
Talking about you don't support a crackhead
What you think happens to the money from your taxes?" -Brother Ali, "Uncle Sam Goddamn"

The venue filled quickly, time passing, people milling around, drinking, counting down the minutes until the show would start. People passing around a pipe were welcomed with a visit from the large men standing guard over the patrons of the tiny place. We wiggled our way into the front, while there was still wiggle room, and from there, we proceeded to watch the show unforld before our eyes. The lights dimmed, the DJ started spinning and the opening act took the stage. Toki Wright, I swore I had seen him before, and suddenly my mind settled on it. Paid Dues. July, last summer. He was the middle act, rocking Red Rocks with a cloud of weed smoke billowing up from the crowd. We waved around, a little, timid as the first act goes. Red Bull in our hands, dark black permanent markered x's on the backs, showing our age. The show filled in fast, and Brother Ali took the house down. In between the beginning and the finale, Abstract Rude took the stage. It was insane. We danced, jammed in between the back of the front of the theater and the masses of people around us. By the time it ended, we were sweating and exhausted, and the journey home proved just as difficult. A few wrong turns and some adventurous maneuvering left us somewhere north and somewhere west. Empty warehouses and tire stores lined the street, houses, small and crumbling, cars littered everywhere. It was one of the best nights I've had this year.
"Colorado is more than a bunch of snowboarders and people getting high." -Brother Ali, while promoting a local act.
I should mention that Brother Ali is an albino Muslim rapper. He spent a few minutes telling the crowd how beautiful he feels when he wakes up. It's obvious that he's comfortable in his own skin. He's a bit political, but not overly so, and thoroughly enjoyable.

Reminder

I open the cloth duffel bag and there, lying on the top of my hastily stuffed belongings, sits a book of his I borrowed and a small stuffed wolf he gave me after the crying fit. It smells of his cologne, a present from me, and it stings my nose now, a cruel reminder of how he lingers even when he's gone. The smell will fade and soon the wolf will smell like nothing spectacular, fitting into the collection of animals discarded places from childhood, too special to give away.
I call him and he answers. It's never quite the same and we both know it. Standing in the airport yesterday, I asked the usual question: "Do you want to talk tonight?" Of course. We talk every night. But we both know we wouldn't have to ask it if we weren't a thousand miles away.

Danny

We came up with the idea as the day was fading away. We grabbed a blanket and supplies from the house and stopped to pick up charcoal from the grocery store. Armed with our meager provisions, we watched the sun fall from the sky as we set ablaze tired leaves that had never left their iron home after falling before winter. The temperature quickly dropped, breathing hints of the snow that was to follow down on us. We waited until the coals lay softly and the fire had nearly gone out and then together we layed the tin foil down and then the hot dogs.
Katie joined us, too.
We had pineapple, chips and hot dogs, and somehow it was the best impromtu barbecue in the world.
Tonight, we sat at airport, and now he's on a plane home. We got 75 degrees and then snow, and it was one of the best weekends of the year.