Blood Tangent | Sarai Nissan

Photo Credit: Bobby Jones

Photo Credit: Bobby Jones

When I was 17, I spent the summer in Brooklyn attending Pratt’s pre-college program having the pseudo-art school experience. I functioned on very little sleep and a lot of coffee. I didn’t sleep for two days, my pupils were the size of pies, and I started to see shadows in the corners of my eyes.

After the program ended, my twin sister and I stayed an extra few weeks stomping around Brooklyn and the New York City subway system in our Doc Martens. Deep in Williamsburg, Brooklyn was the mythical Death By Audio, a DIY venue in a warehouse occupying the first floor of an industrial building. Artists like Ty Segall, A Place To Bury Strangers, and Thurston Moore were some of the many to grace the beer, sweat, and tobacco-stained rooms. Sadly, VICE bought out the building and the venue was shut down; alas, that is how the gentrification of an already gentrified neighborhood in an increasingly gentrified borough cookie crumbles.

We stood in the dimly lit and cigarette smoke-filled room and listened to songs and bands I don’t remember. What I do remember was tagging along with a Texas band called Eets Feats after the show. We missed their set, but they still hung out with us anyway. They invited us out with them to a divey little bar down the street, that was deceivingly much smaller than it already looked. There was a huge, menacing bouncer standing squarely in front of the entrance.

“We aren’t 21…” my sister or I said.

“Don’t worry we’ll get you in,” they assured us.

We lingered outside of the bar for a moment smoking cigarettes when we noticed that the bouncer had mysteriously vanished. It was nearing 1 a.m. and this was the prime hour for Brooklyn food trucks. A plain, albeit not clean, taco truck was conveniently stationed outside of the bar.

“Quick! He’s getting tacos, go in!”

It was like some celestial being was parting the seas to our own debauchery. We rushed inside the bar, cramped with after shift drinkers and alcoholic hipsters. I don’t remember much after that but all I can say is, thank god for after-midnight taco trucks, famished  bouncers, and a bit of dumb luck.  

Disclaimer: don’t be me and sneak into random bars with strangers in a neighborhood you do not know and in a city you don’t live in, while being underage.

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