Aesliip Strain Stories: Big Wreck in Downtown Seattle

I seem to have an affinity for adventures with cool homeless people. This story is similar to my run-in with Hippie Rick, but takes more of a poetic turn.

The setting: The night started out with me getting ready for a metal show at El Corazon in Seattle. One of my favorite folk metal bands, Tyr, was playing along with Children of Bodom and a few other bands. But I was only there to see Tyr.

As I was waiting in line for the doors to open, I noticed what appeared to be a makeshift homeless camp underneath Denny way. The camp was built out of lawn chairs, blankets, scraps of cardboard, and trash. Some young-looking homeless guy with giant boots and a black cloak appeared out of the darkness and began walking along the line, proposing sexual favors in exchange for chicken fingers. He seemed totally serious. It was not my fate to know this man, but the run-in with this homeless man set the tone for events to come.

The show was great, but really packed. I mean, seriously, at one point I couldn’t even move because the crowd was so thick. In this regard, I think Studio 7 in SoDo is a better venue, just because there is more space. Anyway, after Tyr finished playing I was making my way to the merchandise table, contemplating whether or not to stay for the other bands. That was when some asshole shoved me from behind, which was the catalyst for my decision: I would leave.

Through that mass of flesh I escaped into the fresh air of the night. The night was still young, so I decided to walk around downtown in search of an adventure. While doing so, I smoked some Big Wreck from my one-hitter, just a few hits to help elevate the mood without getting too high.

Just like my encounter with Hippy Rick, a homeless gentleman started calling out to me from behind. Upon hearing, I took a quick look back at him but kept going. I stopped when I heard him say something about weed.

“You smell that weed?” he said, approaching me. He was dressed in jeans and wore a faded green jacket. His hat was on backwards, and he was carrying some long, thick green leaves.

I said something to him but I don’t think he listened, but instead was looking around until he asked me, “You see that cop pull over there?”

“What?”

“Is that cop still over there?”

I looked over where he was nodding.

“No, I don’t see any.”

Then he handed me something. It was a little rose he had fashioned out of the long leaves he was carrying. He told me how we went around selling those to get money for food. It was very well made, and I thanked him for it. He asked me if I would like to pay for it, and I gave a few dollars – it was all a had- to him.

“Where did you learn to make these?” I asked, “these are pretty cool.”

“Each leaf is for happiness” he said, “and the stem represents longevity. With this you will have plenty of both.”

I didn’t know what to say because such a meaningful and symbolic gesture from this man was so unexpected. I wished I had more money to give him. Not knowing what else to do, I asked him if he wanted to smoke, but he politely refused, which was probably the best choice.

Having found my adventure, I examined the leaf-rose as I walked towards home, realizing that I had never asked for his name.