HEAD
R
S
by Aaron Itout photos Ken Salerno
From way above the banger's
heads, a shadowy figure emerges.
Spotlights converge as the phan-
tom waves fists high in a brash.
gesture of defiance from atop the
speaker stacks. It is a celebration
of victory against the bouncers.
whose job it is to control and con-
tain people, and a warning to those
at ground zero to look out below.
The fever is in full-effect and
adrenaline is coursing through the
assailant's veins. Simple fist-to-the-
face slamdancing will no longer do.
The jackhammer of the bass and
the pounding of the drums com-
mand the bombardier to commit a
desperate tribute and take flight.
Bouncers gather cursing, wishing
there was a way to wade through
the sardines to pounce on the per-
petrator at the point of impact.
Unfortunately, they can't. Bummer
for them. Instead they bust some-
one else's head and throw him out
on his face. The clueless look on,
not knowing they may soon receive
a tap upon the noggin.
Let us pause here to consider
the possible consequences of a
180 pound person wearing steel-
HOT TUNA
toe boots, spiked bracelets and
spurs jumping from a 15-foot high
diving board onto the heads and
shoulders of the innocent people
below. Will they catch him with
their arms and hoist him high, like
a victorious quarterback at Super-
bowl MCMXXXIV? Will they not
see him coming and get squashed
like crackling bugs underneath Doc
Martins? Or will they part like the
Red Sea and let him pay the price
on the beer-soaked concrete?
For that one moment, it doesn't
matter. Looking out at the masses
below, the perp pauses for a
nanosecond. His stomach is the
victim of extreme convulsions but
his mind is somewhere else. He
swallows his fear, bounds into the
abyss and everything else fades
away. What does he see? What
does he think about? Probably
nothing. Then KA-BOOMBA!
Contact is made, bones are
crushed, screams of agony unfurl
and everybody in the vicinity tum-
bles to the floor. Woe if this hap-
pens in the dance floor traffic area
where all the victims get trampled
like the fruit of the vine.
"Thank you, sir, may I have
another?
S
KLEY
NOTICE
NO SLAM DANCING
NO STAGE DIVING
NO SPIKES
Y