Stacie In The Beach
I was the one at that party getting my butt slapped with a huge paddle by gay boys dressed in sailor uniforms. That was me, I was that chick. Yeah, so that's how we met. Stacie 's holding a roasted cob of corn dripping with butter in her hand and gesticulating with it wildly. Jake and Cary are drinking PBR tall boys out of paper bags, nodding and smiling, busting out in cackles of laughter peppered with, Boy! Nu'uh, totally brah- I seen you! Mmmmm! while flicking their fingers in a spastic dance over their heads, doubling over in high drama laughter. Peacocks in full display, fanning their tails, the group of them. Throngs of people mill about, ebbing and flowing, sometimes coming to a standstill then suddenly swimming upstream again, around the funnel cakes and ice cream, a different band every 20 metres. Samba, rock and roll, Ecuadorian pan flute, old school traditional jazz, psychedelic funk and bad Tony Bennet covers. Six blocks of carnival crazy peppered with the UN of...