Double Kick Drum By the River In the Summer

Playing Kiss Covers

The railroad bridge wasn't in use anymore.

But there was a small park.

And a friend of mine had rented a room on the top floor of an apartment building on a hill.

It looked over the park. And a river. Or maybe an inlet. Or an isthmus. Or a channel.

In any case, it overlooked the water.

And one weekend there was a block party. With loud bands playing songs everyone knew.

The bands weren't good.

But they were okay.

And one by one, the neighbors came out into the street.

It wasn't officially closed, but someone had traffic cones. And someone else had a sawhorse.

And they blocked off two blocks. By the water.

Hibachis followed. And small charcoal barbecues. And coolers with beer.

And we wondered around for hours. Everyone wanted to feed us. Everyone wanted to drink with us.

All the immigrant girls with the home-dyed blonde hair wanted to talk to us.

It was fantastic.

And then, as if on cue, everything shut down. People cleaned up. Families took away the sawhorse and the cones.

The bands packed their gear.

10 minutes later, the cops arrived. Said they were investigating a report of an illegally closed street. A block party with no permits.

And the blonde girls flirted. The cops could smell barbecue but could see nothing.

So they left.

And the street seemed normal again.

Except the neighbors all smiled at each other. As if they shared a secret.

Which, I guess, they did.