The tea was mild and old and especially smelly, and THE LITTLE RED-HAIRED GIRL still rebuked my advances out of loyalty to her boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend, I don't even ask anymore). But I brought them both to St, Pete with me to cover the RATT/Warrant concert at Jannus Landing. One I forced down my gullet with watery eyes, the other I can't stop drinking with my eyes. They're both unhealthy pleasures

"I am going to go pick up beer and I'll be over in a half hour." She said on the phone an hour before arriving at my house. We ended up drinking Gin because neither of us has a preference; I base my liquor choice on the first hip-hop song that pops to mind. Kool Keith sips Absolute and cranberry. But Snoop messes with Gin and juice.

We gagged on tea on the way over the St Pete Bridge in slight drizzle. The freedom of character I only feel with her has become a rare occasion, between vacations with her boyfriend. It was so nice to have her in my truck; to have her attentions. To lose self-consciousness like I do only with her, and receive her affirmation for it in phrases like, "I adore you."

Normally, I taint my share of our time together with thoughts of more. But since deciding to move to California, the weight has been lifted. I no longer expect or hope. I guess when I say that out loud, it sounds bleak and depressing, but there was a new sense of freedom between us as we rolled into St. Pete in the refreshing post-rain breeze, like air-conditioning.

Warrant ran through "Down Boys," "Cherry Pie" yadda yadda yadda. They were O.K. if they were ever good in the first place. I'm not sure if TLRHG had ever heard them, but I liked them enough when I was 14; though I never bought any of their records. As for RATT: I had posters and bandanas and RATT T-shirts. I remember listening to them on my headphones, rewind, stop, play, stop, rewind, play, trying to write the lyrics down, before they started putting lyrics inside tape covers.

At Jannus Landing, Jani Lane of Warrant looked older, pudgier, balding, but still good. He came on stage and explained to the audience that he was planning on "Being really bad tonight.

"I have a fucking mouth like a truck driver. So, I hope no one gets offended. But if you are offended by something I say (pregnant pause…and…up goes the middle finger!) Then you probably shouldn't have fucking come in the first place!" (crowd applauds Lane's brave stance). Lane's behavior was really offensive (pregnant pause)

…in the mid-eighties.

TLRHG seemed to have a great time. Our evening felt very much like a date; holding hands as we guided each other through the sea of drunken dirt-rockers, buying each other drinks, complimenting and outwardly appreciating each other, staring at each other. She even wore my irreplaceable RATT bandana around her leg. But somewhere along the line I lost THE LITTLE REDHAIRED girl to a swarthy Frenchman. She broke free of our tractor beam and they talked for half-an-hour. But it didn't bother me at all. I had confidence. The Frenchman was no match for me.

It bothered me so very little, that I secretly hoped she noticed. I hoped it would add into her qualitative judgement of me.

We sat inside at the bar, cooing in our tea daze and checking out the mulleted crowd. On the loveseat behind us, an obviously intoxicated, but especially anguished looking man, sobbed little shiny trails of not-quite-tears. He ran his fingers hard through his long balding mane and played nervously with his wispy brown mustache. I sat down on the couch with him and stuck the tape recorder in FUCKED-UP GUY'S (FG) face:

ME: Hello sir, are you O.K.

FG: I'm all fucked up man

ME: Are you gonna enjoy the concert?

FG: (Shakes his head side to side,'no').

ME: What did you take, just alcohol?

FG: I tried that stupid…ecstasy (The idea of rave culture reaching out to dirt-rock culture is pretty intriguing to me. But it seemed a failed, cross-cultural experiment: bad trip).

ME: Oh you did?…and you don't like it?

FG: Oh fuck…I feel so happy.

ME: So happy?

(At this point TLRHG brings me a glass of water, and sits down: into me, laying into the side of my chest between me and the Fucked-Up guy. She rests her palm on my knee and smiles at FG. The poor guy looks miserable).

TLRHG: (sitting down) What's up?

ME: He took ecstasy…

TLRHG: Sweet!

ME: …and he feels happy.

FG: She doesn't understand (Hundreds of lines appear on his face as he begins sobbing.)

ME: She doesn't understand?

FG: You don't understand…(sob, sob)…I'm not the happiest.

LRHG: Who doesn't understand

FG: Oho boy….look how fucking happy I am (heavily sobbing now as if the misery of his formerly sober life is just that much more pathetic in the new light of ecstasy)

LRHG: You seem really happy.

FG: I'm very fucking UN-happy.

(TLRHG's seemed patronizing, which I didn't think was a good way to be to someone in psychosis. But I was prepared to defend her; would have considered it an honor, and then felt very stupid the next day holding cold beef to my swollen face.)

TLRHG: You should be careful where you get your Ecstasy. You should be careful…it'll go away soon dude.

ME: It'll go away.

FG: (raising his voice in anger and disappointment) Fuck yeah it'll go away!…(pregnant pause. FG pinches his thumb and forefinger together and holds them up to his lips in pantomime)I feel like fucking burnin' a joint.

ME: Yeah, yeah, me too, but I don't have one.

TLRHG: Yeah, (turning to me that'd be sweet, wouldn't it?

ME: Yes, it would be.

(Suddenly, as if just noticing her presence, he tenses up and addresses me, though still looking at her)

FG: You better take care of her…cause I'll tell you what; if I EVER wake up (his voices raises a pitch) and you fucking screw her OVER (He closes his eyes and clenches his raised fist as if squishing a grape. For the first time I am worried) It'll fuckin PISS me off, (then he went off on some tangent)…cause it was my little brother and he fucking made me leave….it fucking hurts man. (getting back to the subject, he points at TLRHG still nuzzled into me on the couch)…don't ever let this pass you by, cause if it does dude…(very pregnant pause)…that's so screwed up, I'm sorry…hey I'm sorry right now…

ME: No, no, no don't apologize…

FG: Look at me right now, (pointing again at TLRHG) this is a fucking babe. If she fucking ever hangs out with this crowd (motioning toward the rest of the packed bar). You just can't care about people…I got this girl that I care about

TLRHG: You seem really sensitive. (This time I nudge her for being patronizing. She doesn't notice)

FG: (Eyes wide open and teary, he breathes out wordlessly through his sadness) I am…very very…and that's fucking stupid.

TLRHG: No, no, it's beautiful, your pain is beautiful.

(Suddenly, though I hadn't contemplated the option before: I realize she is being sincere. Scary.)

FG: That's fucked up because…look at that (motioning toward the bar again)

ME: That girl's butt?

FG: No. Look at everyone…I'll tell you what, I don't know how old you guys are but…(pregnant pause staring at me, pointing at TLRHG again)…don't ever fuck around with her (TLRHG didn't seem to get the irony of his warning)…This girl I love…she's bleeding

ME: What?

TLRHG: You should show her you love her (She starts to get up)

FG: NO! NO! NO! (another tear comes) Don't get up!

TLRHG: OK…sorry dude…I'm here…(she sits back down)

FG: I really have nobody…this is a bunch of shit…(addressing me while pointing at TLRHG)…this little girl right here; I see her father, do you know who her father is?

(TLRHG's father died of skin cancer when she was little. Whenever the subject comes up she makes mildly sick, blunt jokes about his death. It always sends a brief wave of melancholia over me when she does that).

TLRHG: He's dead. He doesn't know my father, my father is dead.

FG: Her father is there like, in front of me…who is that dude right there…(his attention turns to a handsome dirtrocker at the bar with his date)…look at this cock-sucker. What do you think he's thinking about her?

TLRHG: (Cheerily) He wants to fuck her.

ME: Blowjobs, that's what he's thinking of. (I grab her hand and lead her off the loveseat. He lets us go.)

FG: You take care of her

CONTINUED TOMORROW: exclusive COMMONPLACE interview with Jani Lane of Warrant