Dirty 6th – I was Unaware of this Lingo

Attention, everyone: Apparently it’s cool to call the easternmost part of west 6th “Dirty 6th.” In celebration of a newfound colloquialism, let’s review my most recent outing.

The first weekend of Austin City Limits has washed over us, and the initial batch of weekend concert-goers has retreated, leaving their grimy film of out-of-town traffic all over IH-35, like so many slugs. I have lived in Austin for approximately 90 days, which I think gives me the right to 100% contempt. Back from whence you came from, you many-headed, drunken beast! THIS IS MY HOME YOU BESMIRCH!

I witnessed the full fury of Austin downtown during a festival. There was a line to everything, and bars that would blush at the idea of charging a cover most weekends were charging $5 covers. I went out with one of my fellow cellmates at Baby Versailles (the living situation there has devolved considerably – I’ll go over that hysteria once the dust has settled), Amanda, and her friend Alicia, a lively bon vivant I hadn’t met before.

Alicia is a fashion plate, attracting compliments of extremely drunk women on all the components of her outfit- high heels, black tights, black short shorts, poofy white shirt. Her extraordinary looks got us a discount on one of those obnoxious covers. She is one of those people who knows a lot of people, and greets one and all with the enthusiasm of a shipwreck victim hailing a cruise ship.

At the first bar there was a) cocaine and b) a puppy. I didn’t see the cocaine, but Alicia has a keen eye. In spite of the baby animal and contraband, we got bored very quickly and left after a few minutes of standing around, feeling nonplussed by country music.

Outside of one bar, Alicia spotted some buddies.

“Hola, borrachos!”

Free beers! Free shots!

Amanda doesn’t drink, so contented herself with sampling a spice condiment someone left on the bar.

During the daytime, Alicia informed me, it is a classy Mexican restaurant. The walls featured extremely classy black and white photographs of an excellent butt.

After a little dancing at Cheer up Charlie’s, we drove to west 6th. Sadly, it was around 2 am when we got there, the time when everything starts to close. It was packed with people close to tequila-induced death, with nowhere to pee, and fights breaking out between people who were obviously not from here. There were mounted police officers at the end of the fun part of the street, getting ready to charge, or something (horses are overrated, unless you’re looking for something really good at taking a horrible, massive poop in what was previously a perfectly good thoroughfare).

So we drove back to Pflugerville, with plans to go out to dinner the next day and fight with a waitress about how many margaritas someone could have. Salud!

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