"Frank, you got anything else we can break?" screams a young guy in a checkered wool cap. "You got anymore New Kids on the Block? I could use some more New Kids to thrash!"
That's what I hear when I drop by Balcony Lights on its last day. They're busting stuff.
"Just help yourself to whatever's in the stack on the counter, I set those aside for pitching," says Frank DeFrancesco, the owner.
"Oh, cool," says the young man. "You've got Michael Bolton in here." He smashes the disc on the stair railing. It's like watching a Three Stooges skit come to life.
"No man," says Alan, an unpaid employee. "You have to pitch it like a frisbee, let the wrist go, then it'll crack." I'm hit by a few shards.
"Careful!" Frank says.
More well-wishers drop by to offer their condolences. "We brought beer!" they chorus.
Daniel, the guy in the wool cap—not an employee, just a guy here to help break things—throws an armload of books over the balcony upstairs. "Look out below!" he cries.
A few hours later, well-wishers are still hanging around. I reach into the clutter for a copy of Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle. "Ah, ah," says a young woman. "I've got dibs on that." We chat for a minute. "If you find any Vonnegut on the floor, could you save it for me?" she asks.
"You definitely need to check out our bathroom," says Alan. The commode is quite the sight, all right (i.e. it's not exactly sanitary). There's green muck caked around the toilet, frayed tissue paper everywhere, tons of reading material, and the sink is held up by a tire. Plenty of bathroom poetry left by customers or employees, too: philosophies on existentialism ("life is pointless"); politics ("join the UNLV society for Marxist propaganda today!"); and relationships (F--k you Jimmy. I hope you and your new slut of a girlfriend flunk every f--king class this semester, and your dad has to throw you out of the house because he discovers what a f--king loser you are! Love, Theresa").
The manic intensity that festered in the store earlier has been replaced with a more quiet, somber tone. "You had a decent run," I tell Frank.
"Yeah, the problem is, this is such a 'Hot Topic' town."
"Well," he whispers a few minutes later, "five long years, and this is it. With any luck, maybe people took something with 'em from here."