Stan stood outside the Showcase jump-starting a new Marlboro. He pinched the butt of the previous smoke between his thumb and middle finger. With a theatrical flourish he extends his right arm and flicks the butt in a wide arc out over the parking lot. The ash separates from the filter and lands on the hood of the Savage Four's Dodge van. Don, lead singer of the Savage Four, owner of the Dodge Van, stops in mid-sentence to watch the ash burn a black circle into the white paint. "Excuse me," he says to Tyja, his girlfriend, before stepping over to where Stan holds court.
"That guy's a fucking asshole, buddy boy." Stan addresses everyone as buddy boy sooner or later. It's not a term of endearment but means he can't be bothered remembering your name. Or that an insult will follow. Puffing himself up to his full six feet two inches, Stan jabs his right index finger into Glenn Silverman's chest, saying, "That guy's an asshole - and YOU’RE an asshole, Silverman!" Glenn grins, laughs. The five or six hangers on laugh, too.
John turns to me: "Jesus! Why do people let him talk that way to them? I don't get it!" We stand twenty feet away, leaning on the hood of Rich's Pontiac. We're talking about guitars, humbuckers versus single-coils. "Why do people let him talk that way to them? I don't know. He's always calling people assholes, even to their faces. I guess everyone thinks he's just kidding. I guess you can say almost anything if you smile while saying it."
"You mean they know he's a blowhard and they come around to be outraged?"
"They think he's Johnny Rotten. They don't know he's just a mean motherfucker. A real bastard. Just add beer. Which is why I hate getting to these gigs so goddamned early. We've been here since four just to get a fucking SOUNDCHECK. The longer we hang around, the more of that cheap shit Red, White & Blue he consumes."
"Jesus, how can he drink that swill?"
"Not only does he drink it, he drinks it WARM, motherfucker!"
"You're shitting me!"
"Dude, he pounds that stuff down one right after another. He's finished half a case already!" Don steps through Stan's fawning admirers, claps his hand on Stan's shoulder and laughs. "Hey man, you trying to ruin my fine paint job?" Don's van is infamous in the scene for its sheer ugliness. Not a square inch is untouched by graffitti. Not creative, artistic graffitti but FUCK YOU and SUCK ME and YOU SUCK in big, blobby Day-Glo letters. Don would make half-assed attempts to cover it up, only to be undone by a fresh batch a week later. He got pulled over on the Palisades Parkway by an ignorant trooper who claimed he was carrying "advertising" and the van was, therefore, a "commercial vehicle". Don talked for months about fighting the ticket but I think – in the end – he just paid it.
"What ARE you talking about Donny?" Stan says, peering in the direction of the van. "That thing's a piece of shit!" Everyone laughs. So does Don. "And who's that leaning on your hood? Your girlfriend?"
"Yeah. That's Tyja. You remember her." 
"Oh, right. I didn't think you'd let just any nigger lean on your van." Stan tosses another cigarette butt. Everyone falls silent. You can hear the wind blow in all the way from the Meadowlands. Don stands there, his mouth hanging open, then says, "Hey man, that's TOTALLY uncalled for. You know, people put up with a lot of shit from you. But that's bullshit!" Stan slurs: "What are you gonna do about it, PACIFIST? You ARE a pacifist, aren't you, DON? Real fuckin’ SAVAGE."
"Shit, I better get over there..." I say to John. "Hey man, I wouldn't get involved if I was you!" I turn and yell, "We're supposed to go on after those guys! I haven't been hanging around Dover all day for this asshole to blow the gig!" I step between Ron and Stan, who hisses "And what the fuck do YOU want?!" I try the non-chalant approach. "Hey man, come on. Let's go inside and see what Rich's up to. I saw him with that blonde chick." I try to grab Stan's arm but he waves me away. "Yeah, I said it. 'Nigger'. What are YOU gonna do about it?" Don, a good foot shorter than Stan and fifty pounds lighter, stands frozen to the spot. The Savage Four is all about non-violence, about turning the other cheek, about peace and love. Their name is supposed to be ironic (Stan doesn't like irony). What the fuck they’re doing on a bill with Nature's Mistakes is anyone's guess.
Tyja steps over to Don, tugs at his pants, says, "Come on. This guy's just an asshole." Stan finishes off another Red, White & Blue. "Yeah, I'm an asshole." He points at Don. "But he dates niggers."
"Okay, okay. Stan, that's enough." I push hard with both hands against his chest. He staggers backwards. "Stay out of this, you fat fuck!" Stan throws his beer at me. "You're not a Mistake. You don't even know what it means!"
"What are you talking about?! I came up with the name! The whole thing was my idea! You didn’t even know how to play your bass! I fucking TAUGHT you!" My bellowing draws patrons out of the club. Soon an audience of fifty or so punk rockers are watching us. "Yeah, well..." Stan says, "...you're just a nigger-lover. So FUCK YOU!" Then he punches me in the face, catching me above my left eye. I hit the sidewalk. Stan looms over me, aims a boot at my head. Suddenly Rich is there, yanking Stan's leather coat, hauling him backwards. Stan falls on his ass., Rich yells, "Whoa, whoa, whoa - what's going on out here?" Don says "Your bass player is a fucking asshole." Stan sits on the ground, holding his stomach, laughing. I feel above my eye for the blood. It doesn’t seem as bad as it feels. John comes over, helps me up, says, "Dude, I told you not to get involved." Stan keeps laughing. Rich finds me, says, "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm okay. But I think this gig is fucked. I'm not going on stage with him." Rich helps Stan to his feet. "I can't leave you alone for ten minutes, can I?" To Tyja Rich says, "He's drunk. He didn't mean it." Tyja turns, walks with Don back inside the club. Rich leads Stan to the Pontiac, shoves him into the passenger side. Stan, his head drooping on his chin, mumbles, "Niggers. Fucking niggers. Fucking goddamned niggers. Niggers..." I press a bandanna to my cut. Rich waves me to the driver's side window: "Listen... I'm driving him home. He's in no condition to drive."
"Rich, he's in no condition to live."
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