Solace

The club I owned was a clip joint. It was called the 9 o’clock Club. It was a corner store front with a second floor apartment.
Outside on the night wild streets older teens made a tower out of wood pallets. It was 20 feet tall. It was their lookout. They entered through an opening and climbed up the inside to post on its top and watch.
We existed nervously together.
They were a trap family, always strapped, and dangerous. But, from what I could overhear from their conversations from my second floor, funny as fuck.
They wanted inside the joint.
Management wasn’t happy and carded extensively.
Kids like them didn’t have ID.
I had a plan to friend them. We built a room for them on top of their tower while they were sleeping during the day. Like a forestry lookout tower room.
They loved it.
One of them was Solace, a boy I had met in the mid 90s when I was teaching with Bob. Solace was so quite. He always looked as if he would start crying. He was a sad boy. Maybe 11. One day I tied his shoe and when I lookd up at him his tear fell on my face.
A boy without consolation.

My dream last night. Solace exists outside of it.