

The rain poured cats and dogs in that fake movie rain kinda way but it didn't sway us from making the trek. Once we entered the new Rubulad digs [which ain't that new since they moved years ago], it was like we'd never left the vibe. A vibe that, as of late [due to winter doldrums and THE QUITTER duties?], has been missing from my monthly diet of dancing hard enough to dancehall, deep fried soul, and Kraftwerk, that my muscles feel sore in the morning. Which they do. Within minutes, we saw
It's hard to describe the spooky electric maze of Rubulad. It's like a funhouse where the mirrors are rooms reflecting varying cultures and trends evoking the now and then. Haunted yet universal.




["Rubulad" was originally published in DIRTY STORIES #2 and later collected in OPPOSABLE THUMBS]