So yeah. Here goes nothing. Enjoy the show. No fucking flash photography or I will take your camera and put it in the lost and found.

The "Saint" Jimmy gave me another demented Cheshire Cat grin and jerked his head down the boulevard. "You coming?"

I nodded fervently and yelled at Tony and Mike as I grabbed Tye's elbow and steered him in front of me. The walk wasn't far, but it seemed longer because I ended up supporting Tye and Mike had to stop several times to throw up. No one talked. Our guide whistled an eerie tune. Scenes from horror movies played in my head.

The car was cramped and smelled like weed. Tye rode up front, his jacket still pressed to his nose even though the bleeding had probably stopped. The Ready Clinic was a bright white square in the darkness with a neon red cross out front. I explained the situation to the nurse, leaving out illegal substances and other unnecessary details. She took it quite calmly, not once betraying anything but professionalism. I'm sure she had dealt with a lot worse. She led Tye to get X-rays and told me I could wait in the front.

As I entered the empty lobby I was surprised to see a thin black figure sitting a little apart from my friends. He looked even stranger under the fluorescent lights. His dark hair was streaked with blue, his blue eyes were rimmed with black, and his fair skin stood out against his all-black clothing, which looked as though someone's pitbull had gotten a hold of it. He belonged out there, in the dark streets. Here, lounging in one of the yellow plastic seats, he looked like a Gothic voodoo doll in Martha Stuart's kitchen.

I sat down, filling the gap between my friends and the stranger. "You can go if you want. You don't have to wait around. I can call a cab or something."

"Yeah, maybe. Not like I have anything better to do, really."

"Thanks, for earlier I mean. And for the ride. I really don't know what we would have done."

"I didn't do it for you."

"Right. I just… never mind. Thanks anyway." He didn't reply, and I was beginning to wonder if he wanted a reward or something when he grinned and spread his arms out dramatically.

"Don't worry about it. I'm having the time of my life." He looked like he meant it too.

I had no reply to that, so I stretched out my hand, "I'm Kyle, by the way."

He didn't take it. Instead he gave me a mock salute and a smirk, "St. Jimmy."

"St. Jimmy?" Turns out I had heard correctly.

"Don't wear it out."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I let the silence stretch between us. He seemed content to sit there and watch the orderlies going back and forth. Still, my mind was preoccupied with our conversation.

"They seriously call you Saint Jimmy?"

"Sometimes." He looked at me with cold eyes and for all the world I couldn't figure him out.

"Why?"

He turned away and shrugged. "We all need something to believe in."

Either this guy was higher than a kite or he was for real. I was betting on high, but somehow I wanted him to mean it. I wanted meaning in all this craziness. I realized my hand was still only halfway lowered and hastily stuck it in my pocket. St. Jimmy tilted back in his chair and appraised me carefully. "Got a cigarette?"

"Oh… um, no. I don't think we're allowed to smoke in here." He gave me a weird look before turning to Tony. "You?"

"Sure." Tony handed him a slightly squashed pack, and soon tendrils of smoke were curling up into the pristine white ceiling. It took the receptionist a few minutes to notice before she curtly informed St. Jimmy that he needed to take it outside. He grinned and ground it into the nice, white tile floor. The receptionist looked supremely offended. I was torn between amusement and astonishment. I looked over at Tony who raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Is this guy for real?"

Tye came back out to us looking thoroughly miserable with glazed over eyes and an icepack held over his swollen nose. Everyone jumped up and crowded around him asking questions which he tried in vain to answer. Except St. Jimmy.

After we'd satisfied our curiosity about Tye, I turned back to talk to our guide before realizing he was no longer in the lobby… I hadn't even noticed him leave.

Instead, he was lounging on the hood of his car outside, the red neon cross casting a faintly sinister light on his face. Just then it occurred to me that if my life was a horror movie, this would be the part where we all got murdered. I have an overactive imagination sometimes. He watched us for a moment and then grinned. "Where to?"

"You don hab 'o worry aboudid," Tye protested. I translated for him. "He says you don't have to worry about it… We can call a cab."

"Whatever. Get the fuck in while I'm still offering."

"Gee, how thoughtful," I muttered sarcastically, but he laughed like I'd been trying to make a joke.

"That's me," he slid in and gunned the engine. I directed from the front seat this time, since it seemed like I had become the official liaison between our party and St. Jimmy. As we progressed into the nicer sections of the city, he looked at me critically and asked, "So why did you come down to the Warehouse?"

Because we wanted to see what it was like in the slums, I almost said but caught myself. "We heard there was some good music." That seemed like an acceptable answer.

"And you ended up getting fucked up beyond belief," he snorted.

"Hey. We're- well I'm not!"

"True. Too bad." I couldn't see his face in the dark.

"Thank you. Again, I mean. Not many people would have helped us out like this."

He was quiet for a minute until we pulled up to a traffic light. Then he turned to me, holding my gaze, "Let's get something straight right now. I'm not a nice person. Not even close. Compredes?"

I would have laughed except that he was completely, intensely serious. I didn't think I could look away. I gulped. "Um, yeah."

"Good," he said quietly and turned back to the road. His laughter threw itself against the windows of the car and startled us all. "Geez, chill! You guys saved me from a night of boredom and hero-worship. I should be thanking you!"

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, still laughing to himself a little. I didn't understand in the slightest. I was still staring at him when I blurted out my own question.

"How old are you?"

"Hm? Oh, nineteen."

"Seriously?" That was almost two years younger than I was. And at least four years younger than Mr. Mohawk and Crew. "Where do you go to school?" I knew it was a stupid question as soon as I asked it. He didn't even deign to reply, but gave me yet another eye roll. I tried another question before the stupidity could register. "What was that you said about 'sacred ground'?" It had been nagging at me since I'd heard it.

"Oh, that. I don't like it when people mess with the music. Not that I don't like fights. But the Warehouse is a gathering place for people who don't have anywhere else. They get together to listen to music and get high and forget their miserable lives for a few hours. Some people need it to get through one day at a time, as much as they need the dope and the people to go home with."

It took a minute to sink in. Looking at him, I thought that St. Jimmy might be one of those who needed music like that. There was something in his voice… I still didn't understand, but I wanted to. I needed to.

He pulled up outside our dorms and I hesitated before getting out. I felt like I should say something, but he had made it clear he didn't want to be thanked. I settled for, "It was nice meeting you." It seemed woefully inadequate. St. Jimmy rolled his eyes a final time as if acknowledging my failure and drove away down the dark street.

R&R, yeah? Rest and Relaxation. Oh, damn. That's the motto for the happy hotel. I meant Read and Review. Serious.

Also, if you have the good fortune to live in New York, which I'm assuming you do if you've been to see AI, then go see "Sleep No More". I swear it's the coolest goddamn thing I've ever done. Ever. It's Punchdrunk's adaptation of Macbeth.