Alone Together

I went to a bar in Manhattan which I had heard Julian frequented. My sources, I must admit, were rather dubious, but the general decor and patronage suggested the early 2000's - everyone wore Blazers, Doc Martens, and neck ties, and I heard more than a few of patrons discussing the merits of The Libertines in comparison to The Vines. Anyone in my position would have felt confident that JC had, at one time or another, bought a drink there. I sat down at the bar and signaled for the bartender, who wore a skinny neck tie under a black silk sweater vest. His hair was thinning and greasy and the skin around his face was drawn taught as if prematurely aged. I ordered a drink, I don't remember what exactly, one must understand that in my position a drink is not important. If anything, one must retain a keen sobriety if one is to ever meet Julian Casablancas.
I wasn't sure exactly how to pursue the subject of JC with the bartender or the patrons. The subject, if brought up to suddenly can be unsettling to some. The bartender, perhaps sensing how nervous I seemed, and I suppose I must have looked out of place at this bar, looked at me with a dead-eyed smirk and thrust his thumb towards the back of the bar, where I could make out several heads of elegantly disheveled mop-tops, and a glowing cluster of Macbooks. I suspected that they were bloggers. I approached them cautiously, had they any contact with an Under-Manager or Guitar Tech, even a roadie? They ignored me, either lost Twittering, or with willfull disdain.
I pulled a plug running from the wall. The Wi-Fi went dead and their heads jerked up as if hooked by some omnipresent fisherman.
"I was updating my page!"
"I had something on Twitter!"
"I was so close!"
I asked them again about JC and they moaned with despair. "Well what do you think we're all doing here?" One of them asked.
Another stood up, "Who are you that you think you can unplug the Wi-Fi?"
"My name is M., I'm a blogger... have you heard of Casa de Casablancas."
"No I haven't, " he said tersely. "Do you know how many different blogs claim to have access to JC? Of course ours do, but the problem is we've never seen him here. Of course, every once in a while Nikolai Fraiture's assistant comes in-
I gasped-
"Yes, " He replied. "Nikolai Fraiture's assistant has helped us a great deal. All of us here consider ourselves very lucky to have such a high ranking assistant drink at our bar. Before she came here we weren't bloggers but rather we were the janitors. Of course she refuses to even talk with us and sits alone, but on occasion on of us can look over her shoulder at her Blackberry, which is, as you can imagine, an opportunity that few even dream about. Blake couldn't pay for gradschool if it wasn't for her and thanks to her I have managed to pay my rent three months in advance."
I tried to sit down, but one of them snatched a chair away. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I'd like to sit down with you."
The one who had prevented me from sitting shook his head, "Why do you think you can sit down? Do you think we are so stupid as to let a rival blogger share in our incredible luck? No, rather we should throw you out of this bar all together for being so presumptious."
I protested that I just wanted to check my email but it was to no avail. The bloggers, who were by now joined by the bartender, took me by the arms, careful not to upset my hair, and dragged me across the floor and flung me out the door.