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Giuseppe Zangara

My evening in pictures.

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Bored, with a shocking number of my friends going to see Mindless Self Indulgence (who was in town this evening), I set out to Five Points, a section of Jacksonville that plays host to my favorite bar.

 

Here is some graffiti decorating the walls of near where I parked:

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As I turned the corner to head to Fuel (the bar in question), I took a snapshot of the following, located across the street:

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On the left is Wall Street, a bar populated by the area's middle-aged drunks, as well as a safe haven for this town's disturbingly noticable skinhead population; on the right is Rainbows & Stars, a gay-themed clothing and novelty store.

 

My favorite bar, Fuel, was having a live act this evening, which, unfortunately, meant they were charging a cover. I'm friends with the head bartender, so I was sure I could get in, but I wasn't able to spot him upon arriving. So, instead, I went to the Starlite Cafe across the street. Here's a couple of pictures from the bar on the Starlite's patio:

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Another look at the Starlite, this time from the sidewalk facing it:

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One more look inside the Starlite; this time, I grabbed a picture of its restroom:

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Eventually, I was able to flag down Andy, the head bartender at Fuel, who let me inside without having to pay a cover. Here are some pics:

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That's Andy, behind the bar on the left.

 

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On the right is Andy's girlfriend—her name ecapes me at the moment—who is really into straight edge and oi punk.

 

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Shelton, a writer for the local alternative weekly. A really bad writer, it must be said; not that much more interesting of a conversationalist, either. The one time I talked to him, he drunkenly mumbled something about aliens.

 

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Myself in the Fuel restroom, sporting a Mastodon shirt.

 

I eventually went back to Starlite to settle a tab I started prior to my entrance into Fuel. I had another drink, which then saw me—within a twenty minute time span—making out with two women, both of which were roughly ten years my senior. Sadly, no photos exist of this occasion.

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There's no fluidity to his writing; it's sentence fragment after sentence fragment. I can't believe that there's no one at Folio—the alternative paper in question—to edit his work. Too often, it reads like the ranting of a middle school debate team member who happened to pick up a couple of issues of The Nation.

 

(If you google Shelton Hull's name, you can read some of his stuff.)

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I've just realized my life's goal. I'm going to go to college and write a bunch of stupid shit. Any critique I receive, I will respond with "I was trying to do that. It's satire."

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