So, I have decided that St Louis is a big shit hole. I am spending the weekend here on tour, and although we are in a beautiful little theatre and we had 2 amazing shows on Friday, everything else has been crap. We tried to go to a casino last night and ended up in one of the scariest ghettos I have ever seen. I mean, I thought this type of area only existed in post-apocalyptic Mad Max movies, but no.... I found it in St. Louis. Block after block of run down buildings with a seedy night club or strip joint peppered here and there along with a few Stab-A-Hooker hotels. It was a scene out of the Twilight Zone.
First we got off the freeway and the first thing we see is a seedy motel called the "Discreet Motel" at the top of the exit. It was a whorehouse if I've ever seen one. Then we make a right and start driving down what ends up being an old road through an abandoned industrial area with no street lights or anything. After a few curves in the road, we finally see lights around the next bend and think to ourselves that we can stop and get some directions. The lights ended up being a group of 4 or 5 of the nastiest looking strip clubs I have ever seen, and that's not including the 3 or 4 that were dark and/ or burnt out shells of their former selves. Needless to say, we decided to ease on down the road.
It didn't get any better as we continued to wind down the dark road that seemed to be going nowhere, but we were so sketched out that we didn't dare to pull over. Finally we came up to a lit intersection with a sketchy gas station that we were considering stopping at, when I saw a sign pointing us in the right direction, towards safety. I gleefuly made the turn and thanked the stars for an end to our jaunt through hell. But no....just when you think you're out.... they PULL you back in!!! I looked in horror as I read the sign... "Road Closed Ahead- BRIDGE OUT"!!!!!! Every cliche from every bad horror movie was coming to life right before my very eyes. I screamed like a 4 year old girl and wheeled the van back the way we had came, desperate to retrace out steps out of this surreal little mind fuck.
We made it through the strip club metropolis without incident, and were just about to breath a sigh of relief... when the car pulled out in front of us. I managed not to hit the guy, and he didn't even look at me as he headed down the road in front of me at a blistering pace of 25 MPH. Slow I can handle, as long as we don't stop. My one thought through all of this has been "don't stop the van"... if we stop, we fall victim to the faceless horror that inhabits this corner of hell known as East St Louis. For the love of everything holy, don't stop the fuckin van. But we were moving, so my heart was still beating, even if it was in my throat.
"Hey Brad," my friend Jason says from the passenger seat, "...is that a train?"
I looked to the right and strained my eyes to see a very dimly backlit silouhette creeping along beside us. The train cars were the type that are slatted metal frames with long panels running lengthwise along the body of the car, giving it a very skeletal look.
"Oh shit, that's the GHOST train!", Jason said with a boisterous, yet nervous laugh. We had all gotten a little punchy by this time. I don't think we had a doubt up until then that we would be allright in the end, but the whole thing had unfolded up to that point in a very surreal way. Hell, we had even found signs pointing us to the casino!
Then we went from one extreme to the other. This was the worst case scenario of inner city hell. Block after block of boarded up buildings, here and there a seedy club or two, and cash advance/ check cashing storefronts behind steel grating. I reached back and locked my door, feeling a little slimey for playing into the stereotype, but was immediately vindicated when my other castmates, who are all black, did the same thing. And then, there was Keydron. My good friend Keydron. Oh, how I love Keydron. Especially when his drunk ass starts telling me to pull over so he can get out to try to score some weed. He's a great guy, but he was a little drunk.
And then, we saw it. The bright neon lights of the casino. We rejoiced as we pulled into the parking lot and, after avoiding several accidents, found a parking spot. THere she was... our Holy Grail in orange and white neon lights. And she even had valet parking! We walked through the front doors and lit up a fresh cigarette. Casinos are like the land that time forgot. One of the few places where you can smoke in the bathroom and have an ashtray built into the urinal. It was going to be a good evening. We wound our way through the tunnel that lead to the dock, and then on to the most tinniest, most crowded excuse for a riverboat casino I have ever seen. It was small. It was packed. It was smokey. It was sketchy. We hit all three decks in a desperate attempt to find even a single slot machine the four of us could share. Alas, every machine seemed to have an old lady with her arm surgically melded to the the controls.
"You know, maybe something is telling us not to gamble tonight, folks," I said to the fold. I can't believe I said it, being the lover or wagering that I am, but alas, it seemed to be a bad idea for the night. Everyone else agreed and we made our way home for the night, wondering what had happened to the last 2 hours of our lives.
First we got off the freeway and the first thing we see is a seedy motel called the "Discreet Motel" at the top of the exit. It was a whorehouse if I've ever seen one. Then we make a right and start driving down what ends up being an old road through an abandoned industrial area with no street lights or anything. After a few curves in the road, we finally see lights around the next bend and think to ourselves that we can stop and get some directions. The lights ended up being a group of 4 or 5 of the nastiest looking strip clubs I have ever seen, and that's not including the 3 or 4 that were dark and/ or burnt out shells of their former selves. Needless to say, we decided to ease on down the road.
It didn't get any better as we continued to wind down the dark road that seemed to be going nowhere, but we were so sketched out that we didn't dare to pull over. Finally we came up to a lit intersection with a sketchy gas station that we were considering stopping at, when I saw a sign pointing us in the right direction, towards safety. I gleefuly made the turn and thanked the stars for an end to our jaunt through hell. But no....just when you think you're out.... they PULL you back in!!! I looked in horror as I read the sign... "Road Closed Ahead- BRIDGE OUT"!!!!!! Every cliche from every bad horror movie was coming to life right before my very eyes. I screamed like a 4 year old girl and wheeled the van back the way we had came, desperate to retrace out steps out of this surreal little mind fuck.
We made it through the strip club metropolis without incident, and were just about to breath a sigh of relief... when the car pulled out in front of us. I managed not to hit the guy, and he didn't even look at me as he headed down the road in front of me at a blistering pace of 25 MPH. Slow I can handle, as long as we don't stop. My one thought through all of this has been "don't stop the van"... if we stop, we fall victim to the faceless horror that inhabits this corner of hell known as East St Louis. For the love of everything holy, don't stop the fuckin van. But we were moving, so my heart was still beating, even if it was in my throat.
"Hey Brad," my friend Jason says from the passenger seat, "...is that a train?"
I looked to the right and strained my eyes to see a very dimly backlit silouhette creeping along beside us. The train cars were the type that are slatted metal frames with long panels running lengthwise along the body of the car, giving it a very skeletal look.
"Oh shit, that's the GHOST train!", Jason said with a boisterous, yet nervous laugh. We had all gotten a little punchy by this time. I don't think we had a doubt up until then that we would be allright in the end, but the whole thing had unfolded up to that point in a very surreal way. Hell, we had even found signs pointing us to the casino!
Then we went from one extreme to the other. This was the worst case scenario of inner city hell. Block after block of boarded up buildings, here and there a seedy club or two, and cash advance/ check cashing storefronts behind steel grating. I reached back and locked my door, feeling a little slimey for playing into the stereotype, but was immediately vindicated when my other castmates, who are all black, did the same thing. And then, there was Keydron. My good friend Keydron. Oh, how I love Keydron. Especially when his drunk ass starts telling me to pull over so he can get out to try to score some weed. He's a great guy, but he was a little drunk.
And then, we saw it. The bright neon lights of the casino. We rejoiced as we pulled into the parking lot and, after avoiding several accidents, found a parking spot. THere she was... our Holy Grail in orange and white neon lights. And she even had valet parking! We walked through the front doors and lit up a fresh cigarette. Casinos are like the land that time forgot. One of the few places where you can smoke in the bathroom and have an ashtray built into the urinal. It was going to be a good evening. We wound our way through the tunnel that lead to the dock, and then on to the most tinniest, most crowded excuse for a riverboat casino I have ever seen. It was small. It was packed. It was smokey. It was sketchy. We hit all three decks in a desperate attempt to find even a single slot machine the four of us could share. Alas, every machine seemed to have an old lady with her arm surgically melded to the the controls.
"You know, maybe something is telling us not to gamble tonight, folks," I said to the fold. I can't believe I said it, being the lover or wagering that I am, but alas, it seemed to be a bad idea for the night. Everyone else agreed and we made our way home for the night, wondering what had happened to the last 2 hours of our lives.
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I hope that your tour has gone well otherwise...