The Death of a Disco Dancer

15 years ago i moved to the Burgh and started humping in warehouses, of course i had just come from the beach and was young and stoned and without what one would call a winter coat, something that might come in handy here in good ole Western Pa., i was also quite broke when i arrived but as we know i'm an industrious young lad and soon i had enough dosh in me pocket to go out and purchase a coat, in a way this was kind of my first responsible purchase cuz up til this point most of what i spent money on was booze and drugs and records and books and surfboards and booze and drugs, all pleasure and nothing practical but when you work in warehouses and the like you soon find out that Levi's are shit jeans and you can destroy clothes in a matter of weeks, this first gig also involved deliveries so that meant all day sometimes spent in the beautifully shitty weather of da Burgh, hence the coat...

I bummed a ride to some strip mall in the North Hills and bought a Carhartt, an arctic duck jacket or some such title and it was the best jacket i've ever owned, 15 winters of constant abuse between work and dive bars, pockets filled with change, cigarettes, food wrappers and most importantly, weed. You could easily fit a quarter pound of dope in one of it's front side pockets and a few spares ounces to boot, all told you could cart around damn near a pound of smoke in this jacket to sell at your local corner bar, brilliant design to say the least though i'm sure that's not what they were going for, it's the jacket that i wore constantly, each year getting filthier and filthier, (i never washed it once i'm proud to say), covered in warehouse grime and bar smoke, hit by bird shit once or twice, coffee stains, beer stains, food stains, it was waterproof and warm as the fucking womb and it fit perfectly, like a knight's armor, it was there the night that Dipshit pulled a knife on me, there in my infamous moments at Anthony's Lounge, left hanging from chairs in Gooski's, Mitchell's, The Mustard Room, Luna, Chief's, and never a worry of it being stolen, on my back as i lugged boxes and trudged through snow, in short it was like one of my best fucking friends...

And this is the winter it will be retired, yes i'd like to keep it to give to the boyos but the sleeves are coming apart and i noticed a slit near the bottom and my poor Carhartt's innards were beginning to spill out, of course there are some people in this house i live in who would like to burn that jacket and will smile when it goes but that jacket is a like a god-damn symbol of my working class heritage, oh yeah and it was there the night the chef and i almost got in a fight with a bunch of wealthy mall punks at this upscale Shadyside bar, the altercation taking place as the bar closed and the Chef popping off about a Blink 182/Green Day party and the guys and girls popping back and me finally settling it by telling them to "fuck off back to the car that daddy pays for and the apartment that daddy pays for and the bar tabs that daddy pays for and let us lumpen proles get on with our sad and dour lives", a statement that stunned them into silence and sent the Chef and i into howls of laughter, especially after one of the young ladies told us we were working class scum, hell that's a post in itself now innit? but i myself will smile a bittersweet smile as i say goodbye to my dear old friend, to be replaced by a similar coat, only black and not quite as filthy, at least for now, smile at the fact that this first coat marked my first 15 years in Pittsburgh, bought roughly around this time 1995, marked me coming a long way really from those early days to where i am now... so go gentle into that sweet night dear coat, you have served me well and will be missed... at least until the new one is broken in...