Sam Pink - Rontel

The lyrics were, “End of the world/end of the world/wake up, wake up/it’s partying time.”

At first I didn’t like it.

Thought it was dumb.

Thought it was just another dance song.

But then I thought about the lyrics.

The lyrics made a lot of sense.

I appreciated them.

Like, all right, if I was sleeping, and it was the end of the world,

I’d want someone to wake me up.

I’d also want to know if it were partying time.

Wouldn’t want to have to say, “Hey, what time is it,” only for someone to have to then tell me, “It’s partying time.”

Because if it WASN’T partying time, I might not want to be woken up.

But if it WAS partying time — and I was asleep, like in the song — then I’d want someone to wake me up and tell me.

If someone woke me up and just stood there, I’d say, “Why did you wake me up, I was sleeping.”

So whoever wakes me up should say, “It’s partying time”—maybe while pointing both thumbs over one shoulder to indicate where to go for the partying.

And oh how I’d smile and shake my head and be ready to start partying (after I woke up a little, and maybe stretched).

*

When I got to my girlfriend’s apartment, she’d already been asleep and I got in bed with her — resting, but unable to sleep.

I lay there until the sun began to rise, hosting an endless trail of interconnected and unresolved thoughts.

Thought about this homeless woman I saw in a grocery store parking lot last week.

A hundred degrees out and she was wearing a big fur coat.

And her weave went sideways as she bent over and slowly chased an injured seagull.

The seagull looked weird — like a crawling pile of hair — because of how it moved in sideways hops, one wing bent and extended.

Sideways hops.

The homeless woman followed each sideways hop but never closed the distance.

Hopping sideways, the injured seagull.

Looking exactly like the woman’s weave.

I wanted to see her weave jump off her head and land somewhere by the broken-winged seagull, then both hop different ways.

And the homeless woman in the fur coat — wearing only the hairnet now — can’t decide which to follow.

She screams to the sky.

And for some reason in the sky I saw boxer James “Lights Out” Toney staring back down at her and the injured seagull.

I started thinking about Toney vs. Holyfield, one of my favorite boxing matches.

Midway through the second round, when James Toney began winning, he’d put his hands down and dodge a punch by moving his head back then thrust his head forward and stick his tongue out, dodging the next punch.

Then later he’d gesture to the ringside judges after every punch he landed.

He’d gesture to the judges and ask them to make sure they saw the punch.

The fight ended in the ninth round when Holyfield’s corner threw in the towel.

Right after the fight, when security and family and promoters entered into the ring, James Toney went to Holyfield’s corner and hugged him and said, “I luh you, man” a number of times.

Then Toney returned to his corner to have his gloves removed, tape cut off his hands.

He started yelling at the camera.

He said, “Detroit. Detroit, baby. Ypsi. Ypsi, baby, Detroit. Y-town, y’know wh’I’m talking bout. This how do it when you from the D. This how do it in the D, man. Ain’t nobody do it like this. I put a, I put a—” he looked to the side, pointing his finger downward, “—I put anotha southern brotha in the ground, man. They cain deal wit me. Nobody can deal with me.”

Then a broadcaster approached Toney and tried to interview him.

The broadcaster said, “James, were you simply too quick tonight.”

Toney said, “I’m too quick fuh anybody. Cain nobody hang wit me in the heavyweight d’vision. Assa bottom line.” And he got agitated, addressed the broadcaster by name. “I’on’t know, Jim. Don’t try-uh come up here, give me no bad-ass questions, try-uh degrade me wi’ some—”

The broadcaster moved the microphone to his own mouth and said, “Question’s legitimate,” then moved the microphone back to Toney’s mouth.

Toney said, “Holyfield’s a great fighter. Don’t diminish zat — enny time.” Then he grabbed at the microphone a little, to hold it. He said, “He a warrior, an’he came to fight. Bottom line.”

The broadcaster moved the microphone back to his own mouth to say something but James Toney leaned forward and yelled, “Who nex. I got milk baby. Nex ! Uh, my mom, Sherry, Uncle Larry, all, everybody, I luh y’all.”

He kept yelling but the broadcaster took the microphone back to his own mouth and said, “Did he ever hurt you at any point tonight.”

Microphone back to Toney’s mouth where he finished saying, “Cousin Scott, Auntie Janina, everybody, luh y’all. NEX!” Then he wiped sweat off his face with a towel and, very calmly and quietly — almost hurt — he said, “Nah he’ain never hurt me, man. I’m undestructable, man. Don’t forget. When I’m ready, I’m undestructable. I fight ennyone, ennytime.”

He took a deep breath then yelled, “Nex!” thrusting his head toward the camera. Then he paused, took a deep breath and said, “Nex. Who nex.”

Someone from his entourage said, “Detroit, baby.”

Toney yelled, “Detroit, Ypsi, Ann Arbor, I’on’t care.”

The broadcaster tried to say something but Toney kept talking.

He said, “Whoever my promoter tell me, ’at’s who I’m knockin ova next. D’troit.” Hitting one hand into the other, he said, “Ey, ey, ey man, bottom line, my talent speak fuh itself. I ain got answer no one else’s queshuns, I’m going home. Have a pawdy. We goan have a pawdy. And eyr-body that doubted me—” he paused, made a serious face right by the camera, “—or didn’t respect me—” paused again, “—fuck em.”

He turned his head to the side.

A guy from his crew said, “You got cho respect, baby. You got it.”

Toney passed by the microphone again and said, “Scuse me.”

The broadcaster tried to say something else, but Toney kept talking.

“Ey, bottom line, Holyfield’s a great fighter,” he said, “I watched him when I’s kid. I did what I had to do. I get paid to do. Bottom line, Detroit inna house.” Then, addressing someone through the camera, he made a phone gesture with his thumb up to his ear and his pinky finger up to his mouth. He said, “Ey baby. Ey bay, I got ya message, baby.”

The broadcaster put the microphone under his own mouth and said, “James, James, let’s try to have a decent conversation or interview here. Hold on a second.”

Toney started yelling again.

He took the microphone out of the broadcaster’s hand and threw it down.

Then he backed up, staring at the broadcaster, saying something inaudible.

Someone handed the broadcaster the microphone again and sound returned.

Toney stared at the broadcaster.

“Don’t run up on me, dog,” Toney said. “I’on’t like that.”

And his entourage took him away.

But he returned to hug Holyfield before Holyfield’s interview and Toney said, “Ey, I luh you man,”—then he let go of the hug and slapped Holyfield’s shoulder. “Much respect to you man. Much luh.”

My girlfriend took a deep breath and made a noise then turned over, facing me.

For some reason I was passingly terrified she’d have James Toney’s head/face.

Like, her body, with Toney’s head and face.

And then of course, she’d open her eyes quickly and lick me, making the ‘thup’ sound too, ew!

I got milk baby.

Nex!

Who nex.

It was hot in my girlfriend’s room and I couldn’t sleep and I’d never sleep again.