We were greeted by a small, steel-grated doorway that lead to a, narrow hall. We pulled back the grating and stepped through the looking glass into possibly the most surreal situation imaginable: a tiny, dark bar, crowded with stools, video poker, tv's playing soccer and Portugese flags draped over every surface. At our arrival, one of the 70 year old men hunched over the dirty bar turned to grunt at us before returning to his half-mug of beer and soccer game. Our mouths must have been on the floor because someone came from behind the bar and asked us if we were here for the "rave party". Answering in the affirmative, we were given a brief tour of the venue, and by brief, I mean we were lead around the corner into an even smaller room so filled up with stacked tables and chairs that it was difficult to walk.

It was right around that moment that JK showed up with a small entourage of volunteers and the world's tiniest sound system. It was quite clear that he intended to make a go of it. This was problematic for several reasons. One, the bar we were in had a capacity of maybe 50 people, and over 600 ravers were expected to show up over the course of the night. Two, right at that moment, several people in the room decided that they wanted to kill JK. I distanced myself from the situation and began to help the poor, clueless volunteers JK had rounded up as they began to assemble a makeshift DJ booth with the meagre gear that had been provided. All the while, octagenarian alcoholics continued to cheer their soccer teams on tiny, dirty screens.

Seemingly on cue, once the DJ booth had been assembled, the ravers arrived. A long queue had formed outside the bar on the sidewalk, and this queue was almost immediately noticed by police. The party was scheduled to start around 10 pm, and by 10:01, there were at least 5 police cruisers parked outside, and officers entering the building. I sat in a corner of the bar, beside a happily oblivious Kai Winter, who probably assumed we had made a pitstop at some pre-party as there is no way he could have ever mistaken the disgraceful mess around us for a rave. Ryan appeared beside me and indicated that he wanted to leave, and he wanted to leave rapidly. As we ran the gauntlet of law enforcement on our way out of the building, I could see JK and his partner Eric attempting to explain something to a very stern looking police officer. We ignored the long line of ravers and made a beeline for our cars, where it was decided that we would regroup at the local Waffle House.

 

 

The ten of us lurched through the Waffle House doors only to discover that, even though Valentine's Day had passed, no one had told the staff of this particular restaurant. Streamers, balloons and cheery posters decorated the walls, and perhaps most bizarre, a karaoke machine had been set up in the middle of the aisle.