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THE PENCOPAL PROJECT

2004-05-21 - 10:25 a.m.

Pastori-i is one of South Philly's most successful whores. It�s the only viable answer to his recent successes.

He has always been able to secure concert tickets in a way that made me think of him as part Merlin, part man. But now, he�s gone too far. He has tickets to see Velvet Revolver at the Electric Factory, though the concert sold out in minutes. I know. I tried. But Pastori-i mysteriously scored a pair, and was mum about from whence they came.

I happened to be an ungentrified part of Bella Vista one night last week. My reasons for being there are of none of your concern. While driving out of the debauched area, I caught a glimpse of a man who looked very familiar. There, sandwiched between two whores and three transvestites, was a pasty Caucasian male of average height who looked like the sun hadn�t touched his skin in years. He wore a tattered Mudhoney t-shirt and a backwards baseball cap embroidered with the letter �A.� He thinks it stands for the Atlanta Braves, but I know it stands for Asshole. His eyes were vacant, either from cheap schwag or hours in front of the computer, repeatedly downloading live Sebadoh clips while drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. He was standing with that flat board he calls an ass pushed out toward the street, and he looked over his shoulder at passerby invitingly.

I rolled down my window.

�Pa-Pastori-I? Is that you?�

Our eyes met for one long, terrible second, then the whores and trannies formed a circle around him. When the disbanded the circle, Pastori-I was gone. Motherfucker must�ve been standing over a manhole.

When we spoke the next day, we acted as if nothing had happened.

�Listen, this weekend we�re hitting up the comic convention, if you�re down,� I said.

�Sure, I�ll let you know,� he muttered, voice muffled on account of his lips being wrapped around a PBR. I could hear the beer can crinkling as he crushed it. �Next weekend, count me out. I�ll be at the Velvet Revolver show.�

�What? How the fuck did you score those?� I asked.

His reply was unintelligible.

�Come again?�

�Not likely,� he replied, and hung up. I called him back.

�Just kidding,� he said. �Seriously, a friend hooked me up.�

�Which friend?� I asked. �The tranny or the whore? What the hell were you doing out there last night?�

Pastori-i lost his patience.

�Fuck you Pencopal, with your high and might ways. A man�s gotta do what a man�s gotta do. Like James Brown said, hah, get on the good foot. If I don�t see this history making band on the first leg of their tour, I�m not the man I thought I was.�

�So what are you doing, sucking cock for crack? I mean, tickets? And what about the Pixies show? I�m in row 14 and you�re center stage, first row. How�d you land those seats?�

�A friend,� he said, smugly. �I�ve got friends in high places. I was waiting for that friend last night. And of course I�m not sucking cock, Pencopal, that�s your job.�

He gently placed the receiving in his cradle.

I was shocked and appalled. Pastori-i had reduced himself to the levels of a common whore. But...he did have those tickets. At the moment I wasn�t sure which was worse: Pastori-i�s possible prostitution, or not seeing Velvet Revolver before Weiland ends up back in rehab.

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