The DJ And The Whore

Every Monday night I used to DJ at a hole in the wall club in downtown Oakland. I would set up my turn table in a dingy red light room and play dark ambient new wave records until 2 a.m. The staff at the club would keep my glass filled with cheap Italian red wine and in return I would draw in a crowd of half a dozen new wavers. For me, I did not mind the lack of a crowd because I was there mainly to listen to my records and get drunk on red wine. I would sit at my turn table and play record after record and wait for the crowd to show.


One Monday evening not too long ago there was a terrible hail storm in downtown Oakland. The streets were filled with dusty rain water and barley any cars were out on the roads. I set up my equipment like I normally did but I was not expecting much of a crowd that evening. It was the bartender and myself and together under a storm of hail we listened to the darkest new wave music I could play. Song after song reminded us of a youth long gone and together we drank red wine and passed the time.


As I was putting another new wave record upon the turn table I noticed a woman, around my age in a tight black dress spinning around on the dance floor. I don’t know from where she came but after watching her effortlessly float around on the dance floor I recognized her as a prostitute I had often seen working the streets. It seemed to me like she was under a spell as she twirled around on the dance floor like a Sufi deep in a mystical prayer. I noticed some semblance of youth that was still left upon her hard working body and I surmised that when she was younger she must of been a devotee to these same sounds. The way she danced reminded me of how I would dance in new wave clubs to bands like The Cure or Flock Of Seagulls. Flinging my hands in a wave like motion and barley moving my shy and under age lower body. Dancing like this was all the rage back in the mid eighties and sometimes I still see people dancing like this to this day.


The bartender and I had nothing better to do but watch her dance for hours. I played song after song hoping that she would not stop because she was making me nostalgic for a time long gone. I remembered myself wearing all black and trying to do my hair like Robert Smith. I remembered the numerous women that I had made out with while listening to Siouxsie And The Banshees and smoking cloves. Now I was twenty five years older and a forlorn DJ without a crowd- and she was a hooker with nowhere else to go.


At two a.m. when it was time to close I told her that I was going to play the final song of the night. “That is enough nostalgia for me tonight, I got to go back to work,” she said wiping the sweat from her fore head. She picked up her long black trench coat from the dance floor and thanked me with the silent movement of her burnt out lips. I nodded my head in acknowledgement and took a sip of my fourth glass of red wine. I asked the bartender if it was still hailing out and he said “I have been stuck in a daze the past few hours watching that chick dance- I don’t even know what day it is.” I went to the front door to check on the hail which had turned to rain and from the corner of my eye I saw the hooker standing still on the street corner, crying- and getting drenched by the rain.

13 thoughts on “The DJ And The Whore

  1. thing is, when now hurts just as much, it all blurs together in rain …

    i was a little like that when i danced … it is a special place, in/ “out there” – who knows? do we forget or remember who we are? but the return always aches … and blurs … everything

    i’d like to think the rain was all of her, some kind of healing thing .. but that really would be fantasy *sigh

    deeply moving, Randall

  2. Beautiful. A very different tone for you and really well handled. It’s important to keep reaching for new moods and textures and this is a sweet sad rainy Monday night. Very filmic too.

  3. I disappear into music dancing, to remember…and to forget. I must say, I saw pieces of myself in all three characters.

    I caught up on your posts…excellent writings!! To survive “out there” you must keep writing and painting.

    Good energies and peace of heart to you.

  4. I warned you about my spelling and grammar. So please forgive my punctuation ..I really screwed up my first sentence. You think you know what I was trying to say.
    Feel free to correct me any time. hee, hee

  5. Thank you Gypsy-heart- I think your expression is just fine. I always enjoy the things you say.

    I will without fail keep on writing and painting until I no longer have anything left to say.

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