“You’re joking, right?” said the police officer, standing next him, a drunkard, insisting he just wants to get home.
There’s a harmonica hanging around his neck, but that’s not all: he’s naked, except for a sweater around his waist. It reads ‘Kenluo’. He continues murmuring odd things, forgetting to hold the breathalyzer up and breathe. The officer tries to give him a wide berth as he swings his body around obnoxiously, but when the berth is too wide, he forgets who he is and what he’s supposed to do.
Traffic moves quickly nearby. Passing car lights illuminate their surroundings; the drizzle flickers in the high beams like the electronic keys on Kenluo’s single, “Moonshine.” Aside from the ripples, it’s a perfect mirror. It reflects two apes, trying, in their own ways, to navigate their world with grace.
The rumbling of the nearby overpass resembles the jumbled, noisy beats that persist throughout the tune; in fact, the mix feels patched together, like the last of the bars visited that night.
“Hey! Are you listening?” the cop asks, reaching for his handcuffs.
“Wait!” he belches, “I know this doesn’t look great. I’m sorry that I’m such a mess, too. But can you really blame me for acting like this?”
The cop sizes up the drunk man’s haggard figure before motioning for him to finish his tale.
“I wasn’t always this way. It’s actually corporations that made me do this: staying up too late, drinking heavily, trying to dance to music that’s way out of my league. They make everything so damn irresistible, that I can’t say ‘No!’”
He lifts his arms. “Just look at me! I shouldn’t go to a dance club… Ever!”
The cop nods his head, but quickly stops: so he doesn’t reveal any sympathy.
“I can’t help but stay up late.” He motions at a brightly lit billboard nearby. “Just look at that. Look at it! It’s fucking huge and red and yellow; those fucking colors are the most attractive colors known to man—proven in a court of science. Shit.”
The cop places his hands on his hips, intrigued.
“Let’s be honest, beer tastes like piss, and I hate it. But they’re so good at marketing! How many times have we seen that commercial with the palm tree—I want that!”
The cop’s face is stony.
“Then, I hear this music and see folks dancing. I have to join them, but I don’t have any moves. The harmonica and beats on that second tune were so intoxicating that I just couldn’t help but start dancing… which is when I wrecked the place and they kicked me out on account of my bad dance moves.”
“You sure that’s not because your clothes mysteriously went missing?” the cop interjects, pointing down at the sweater.
He belches again, now also looking down at his sweater where the cop was pointing. “I forgot where I put those.”
The cop shook his head. “Obviously, you’re not in any state to do anything. We’re heading back to the station. I’ll find you some clothes, and then you’ll spend the night there until they can get you cleaned up. OK?”
As the two walk to the cop car, the cop adds, “Tomorrow’s my day off. If I see you at this bar, I’ll show you how to dance.”
The man sniffled before replying, “Thanks.”