ROX-TV invades Denver series Part 2: Touching down in the mile high city, street art, and much more

Welcome back to the ROX-TV website. Today we will be continuing the invasion of Denver series with part 2. There is a lot of ground to cover because the mile high city has so much to offer. The ROX jet set crew tried to cover as much street life as we could, sampling whatever came across our path. With a city as vibrant as Denver, most likely it would take about a month to really dig into the soul of the town, but we did our best with the limited amount of time that was at our disposal. So without further to do, lets get back to it. Yesterday’s article dealt with the reasons for the trip and the series of events that would bring us to the city. We will pick up where we left off…

(Author’s note: because space was limited, I decided to add some graffiti pictures in the article before that section is actually mentioned. I wanted to use the pictures and figured no one would mind. Enjoy)

Michigan 4:30am Thursday morning:

So there I was, rolling around for hours in bed, not really getting what I would consider quality sleep. Hell, I don’t think I sleep normal on any given day, let alone the jump off point for a grand adventure out west. I won’t lie, flying is not something that I’ve ever really been totally comfortable with. There is something about being thousands of feet in the air, in a giant mechanical machine that is a little unnerving. Unlike a car travelling down I-75, if there is any “problems” normally you can just pull off or limp your way to the next exit. Flying is a total different ball game which requires total commitment. It’s not like you can just stop if there is a mechanical failure or a little engine trouble. When your flying around the clouds, its an all or nothing type situation. Everything has to work correctly or you can kiss your Juggalo ass goodbye.

These thoughts were rolling around my tired head as I tossed and turned for hours. As usual, I had stayed up a bit later than I probably should have, firing off a few balloons, and digging on some music. I knew I had to get up early, but sometimes it just doesn’t matter. After this exhausting song and dance played out for many hours, I decided to get up and try the living room chair. It wasn’t much better, but eventually I drifted off for an hour or so. The flight was set to kick off with boarding at 11:10am and I was told to be at the Detroit Metro two hours early. What a fucking hassle, but considering what I was about to go do and see, it was worth it.

I finally got moving around 6:00am and gave up trying to get any more sleep. I was moving and that was it. I’ve never been one to sleep any longer than was absolutely necessary to function, so it was time to wake up. I was travelling light, with only a backpack full of possessions which presented it’s own problems. Planning for an extended stay takes well thought out ideas and anticipation, but that early in the morning I just didn’t give a shit really. I crammed what I could in the backpack, and tossed in an early copy of my new book “Forever In The Jects” about Project Born’s career in the music underground. If nothing else, I figured I could work on some editing and proof read on the plane, but it was mostly wishful thinking.

7:05am I-275:

I kissed my family goodbye and hit the front door. I was dragging ass, but none of that mattered anymore. The ball was moving and there was no turning back. Foggy eyed and empty headed, I aimed my Impala down the road and hit the gas. I was suppose to meet DJ Carlito at the airport somewhere around 9:00am, but I figured I would need some extra time to get to Metro just because. Why? Well, I’ve had a slight history with unexpected excitement and obstacles for most of my life and in my ripe old age, have learned to cope with trouble town. Instead of leaving on time, I always shoot for an hour early where ever I go. The little devils and complications are sure to turn up at some point and I would be ready for the bastards.

Leaving early was not fun to do, but by the time I got onto I-275 heading towards I-94, I was extremely glad I did. Sure as the fucking sun rises in the east and sets in the west, I ran into some trouble shortly after veering right onto I-275. There was a problem on the highway and traffic was damn near stand still. “The bastards got me again” I shouted as the pace drifted down to a trickle. “Nothing can ever be easy” I screamed to myself and shook out a cigarette. I was thankful I had left early, given the current state of things, had I left a little later, the traffic would have been backed up to I-96.

After limping along like a half dead snail, I finally came to the point of all the excitement. There were two state boys (Michigan State Troopers) blocking three lanes, a fire truck resting nearby and some broken down piece of shit serial killer van with no windows taking up residency in the fast lane. “That’s a lot of hoopla for one shit wagon” I thought and eventually got past the circus. I don’t know why, but it always seems like whenever there is some shit show blocking the road, no one ever seems to be moving very fast to “fix” the problem. The state boys needed to throw that junk ride in neutral and push the fucker off the highway with their push bars. I mean damn, this little operation was inconveniencing hundreds of motorist and for what? Is it ok to fuck over a thousand people to make one person happy? I don’t really think so, but whatever. I was moving again and that was all that mattered.

9:04am Detroit Metro

I had made good time even with the accident party and was then faced with parking at the massive airport complex. Luckily for me, it went smooth because I don’t think I could have handled any serious thoughts at the moment. I was still tired, a little “gassed out” and just wanted to find my spot and get settled. I found long term parking on the first try and eventually came to rest in the red zone 2 district. Although the biggest problem of driving was over, I would now need to wander into the airport, dip through security, and find my gate. I’ve had some problems in the past at this airport, missing a flight (mostly due to a late landing and some booze), and overpaying at the airport bars, waiting for a ride.

I hoped to put all those bad memories behind me and jump off the ground without any hiccups. I tried to remember the zone in which I parked but figured by Saturday it would be long forgotten, so I didn’t worry too much. “Buy the ticket, take the ride” echoed in my head. I’ve always been a firm believer in having to give up a piece of myself to have have a good time. If I couldn’t find my car in a couple days, fuck it, I would deal with it later. I had a show to catch.

9:36am  Atwater Brewery:

After a tough time getting through the security check points I found myself wandering towards sanctuary. In this case it was the Atwater Brewery, which was literally a hundred feet from the boarding gate. The TSA gang had been rather cold and unappreciative when I showed up some twenty minutes earlier. I had to empty my pockets, kick off my shoes, lose the belt, and get run through the giant scanner a couple of times. I guess I had it coming though, considering I probably looked half dead, tattooed on over 85% of my body, with a “don’t fuck with me beard” and blurry eyes. If I was the TSA, I would have kept an eye on me too. “This one looks like trouble” I heard myself say, through the eyes of a security guard looking back at me. The sequence was too much and I shook the thoughts out of my head. I needed to put something in my belly and Atwater was the first place I came across.

I’m an alcoholic, so I decided that drinking would be a bad idea. I could have done it, but it would have sent the trip into a wild tailspin of uncertainty, so I opted for a “big breakfast” instead. This giant promise of “big” turned out to be two eggs, two over cooked sausages, some un-buttered toast, and a heap of shit fries that no one really ever eats. I was fine with the presentation but couldn’t figure out the un-buttered toast. Had things really gotten so bad, that the toast no longer gets it due? What is really happening and who is calling the shots on shit like that? Cheap bastards.

 

9:53am Boarding area:

DJ Carlito contacted me by text to let me know he was in the building but was also having some early morning setbacks of his own. When he arrived to print off his boarding pass there was some type of trouble and then the workers who took care of the area, went on an un-announced break for 30 minutes. Leaving my Carnale to sit, wait, and wonder when the hell the show would re-start. It was a jip, but what could we do. The powers that be, seemed to have an army on their side, so we would have to play the game. No sense in rebelling yet. We would save that for a more fitting enemy.

11:10am All aboard:

DJ Carlito finally made it to gate after the slow motion world champions came back to work. We took a few moments to shoot some footage for ROX-TV about our trip and what it all meant. We were ready to get to Denver and see the big show for ourselves. We were heading in like everybody else, two guys, and no weapons (Thank you Warriors Movie). As we boarded the plane I spotted Cody Manson in the crowd. “Holy shit, that’s Cody” I said to Carlito. I wanted to say something to him, because he was part of the reason why we were flying to Colorado. Cody Manson was scheduled to perform at the “Death by Denver” show and a quote for the article would have fit nicely in this space. But, I had to work with what the universe was dealing me, so I lined up to get on the plane like I was told to do (I rarely listen to what people tell me to do, especially when it comes from authority figures and the government, but under the circumstances, they were in charge, and resistance would be futile)

I found my seat address at “15B” somewhere in the middle of the plane. I wasn’t sure if I had been growing or the fucking airlines had been shrinking, because my seat looked awfully tiny. Carlito and I are pretty solid cats and I prayed that the “third person” sitting with us would be tiny. Sardines have more leg room than modern air travelers, but it was what it was. As I sat there, Cody Manson came cruising by so I decided to say hello. “Alright man, catch you at the show brother” I said as Cody looked my way. After a brief hello, I was back into sitting mode, waiting for Carlito to get onto the plane as well. We tried to get comfortable in our “seats” and had a good laugh over our tables. Before the plane was set to launch the stewardess told us to put our “tables” in the up right position for safety. I didn’t know what table she was referring to though because all I had was a fold down metal tray, just big enough for a smart phone in front of me. The term table seems to be thrown around rather loosely these days and I don’t approve of it. If someone broke out a joint on the “tray” it probably would have collapsed. Just enough room for a dixie cup and a roach.

Touchdown in Denver:

When we touched down at the airport in Colorado, I was happy to be on solid ground again. Flying saves so much time, but there is a lot more at stake. Regardless, we had arrived in one piece and that was good enough for me. As we cruised the airport hallways, I seen a “cop big wheel” near the stairs. It was too good to leave alone so I posed for a picture next to the odd looking device. It was like a mall cop’s cruiser I suppose but I tried to imagine riding it to an emergency run, and mostly just got embarrassed by the thought. I would rather walk anywhere than be on a contraption like that, it just looked kind of silly.

As we walked through the airport Carlito told me about all kinds of “conspiracy theories” and strange speculation about the airport. I was intrigued and wanted to know more. Apparently there had been some serious tunnels dug under the airport and a former construction worker had made public claims of secret spaces. The airport officially opened on February 28th, 1995 after falling sixteen months behind and two billion dollars over budget. A lot of people wondered where all the money had been spent. The size was also a factor in the urban legends, with the airport clocking in at 35,000 acres (twice as big as the next largest airport in America).

The Masons (popular secret society) placed a capstone in the building on March 19th, 1994 and used the terminology “New World Airport Commission” on the face of the stone with the Mason’s symbol. Conspiracy theorists believe this is somehow connected to the idea of a “new world order”. The airport did a poor job in explaining away the speculation about the wording and one other thing stood out as well. If a person were to add up the numbers in the date listed on the stone, they would reach “33” as the answer. The number thirty three is very significant to the Freemasons, as it is the highest level attainable in their secret society (Or at least that’s how the story goes. I’m not an expert or a member so I won’t expound much more than that. People raised questions and I merely highlighted them).

Another bizarre feature of the airport is a giant blue horse with devil red eyes, standing guard out in front of the building titled “Mustang”. The statue of the horse is thirty two feet high and weighs almost 9,000 pounds. Conspiracy theorists call the giant beast “Blucifer”. The red eyes burn bright day and night and some people speculate that the horse is a representation of the “fourth horsemen of the apocalypse” featured in the Book of Revelations. As the story goes, the fourth horsemen represents death. Adding to the spookiness of it all, the creator of the horse, Luis Jimenez was killed in 2006 when a piece of the horse fell on him, severing a major artery in his leg and killing him. I was a little taken back by all the different stories about the place and there was just enough meat on the bone to almost believe some of the them.

Chuey to the rescue:

Trying to find the exit in such a big place was a little frustrating. We eventually had to take an underground train which caused Carlito and I to launch into a number of movie quotes from The Warriors motion picture. It was just too good to leave alone and as curious onlookers watched and listened, we dropped the best one liners the movie had to offer (The Warriors street gang heads into the city to attend a big gang meeting held by the Cyrus and The Riffs. The mode of transportation to the meeting was on a train, similar to ours).

We eventually made our way outside to the international airline’s pick up area, and although it seemed like it would work, there was a few hang ups. Carlito had been in contact with our homeboy Chuey, who was kind enough to drive to the airport to give us a lift. The confusion came when Chuey arrived where we said we were, but we couldn’t see or find each other. We had been standing at door 206, and Chuey said he was at 210. We deduced that we just needed to drift down a bit to the next doors, which we assumed would be in order. But when we got to the next door it was 212. There was no fucking 210, at least not at our location. We kindly asked two women who worked for the airport in official airport uniforms, where “210 was” and they just stared at us. Finally the one lady said, “you see down there” and pointed to the end of the building. “It’s over there” and they went to conversing amongst themselves. We thanked them for their kindness until we got to the end of the building but there was no door “210” or anything else. Just a stairway leading to the street. Thanks for the help ladies. Nothing like people getting paid to do a job they have no idea about or even care to learn. Giving out of town people shit directions is a pretty worthless thing to do. Have some pride in your work or just fucking quit. We passed the ladies again after they had lied about things they should have known. Chuey eventually found us after some more back and forths, and we were gone.

Blunt Time:

Chuey showed up with some big blunts, some dabs, a jeep, and whisked us away from the airport that was beginning to give me a headache. His timing couldn’t have been any better and as we blew by the blue horse “Blucifer” Chuey also told me the story of the statue. Everyone seemed to know about the airport and all of it’s alleged mysteries. I thought it was all rather interesting. “Where do you guys want to go? Chuey asked. Carlito told him that we wouldn’t mind hitting a head shop and maybe a dispensary here and there. Chuey said he knew just the thing and aimed his jeep onto the busy highways of the metro Denver area.

Studio420:

Located at 808 E. 78th Avenue, the Studio420 was in a strip mall type setting with a pretty nondescript entrance. Chuey knew the owner and said that the place could provide whatever we needed to help us along the way. After being greeted by a friendly employee, we were buzzed in. The shop had all the smoking accessories and other “neat” things that I was looking. The atmosphere was laid back and chilled, just the way Carlito and I like it. There was wonderful glassware under the counters, snacks, drinks, and all the other things you would expect to find at a righteous location. The owner came down to meet us when he heard that Chuey was in the building and gave us a quick run down of the place.

If your in the Denver area and need a place to get down, Studio420 is exactly the place to do it. They offered a wide range of options and a safe smoking environment for those who needed a place to kill a few hours and get tuned in. The owner gave us a brief history of the place and invited us to check out their other location as well. I made a few purchases of my own and snapped some pictures of the inside for your viewing pleasure. If your in the Denver area and need a safe haven, go to the Studio420 and they will take care of you.

The other location is at 6125 Washington Street and we went there next. There was a healthy selection of items and I picked up a few other “things” to assist me in my good times. The help staff was nice and eager to assist in making the visit a good one. Both locations got high marks in my book.

Buddy Boy Cannabis Dispensary:

Our next stop was at the Buddy Boy Cannabis Dispensary located 3814 Walnut Street. This shop had other locations spread across the Denver city area totaling five all together. The area of Walnut was under construction and traffic was rather fucked up, but we made it there with Chuey’s no-nonsense driving abilities. We entered the shop and got checked in by some pretty friendly faces. After showing our identification, we were buzzed into the area of the store where the magic happened.

The selection was decent and there was different priced tiers to choose from. DJ Carlito browsed the shelves and dealt with the bud tender, while I stood off in the corner, still coming online from the long night beforehand. I was feeling better though and happy about our progress. The bud tender went down the main courses of flower and although DJ Carlito had already made arrangements for half a zip to be delivered to our spot later, one can never have too much flower.

Eventually he grabbed a righteous quarter of White99 and we were saying our goodbyes. Buddy Boy treated us good and in an instant we were back on the street and examining the purchase in Chuey’s G Ride. The flower smelled amazing and I was impressed by the quality versus the price. All in all it was a good stop and I would recommend the place to anyone looking for a “stop and pop”.

Denver Graffiti Street Art:

I have always been a big fan of graffiti and have an interesting history as a tagger myself. Although I never really advanced beyond “toss ups” and “bombing”, I still loved creating street art with my Krylon, although at this point I’m pretty much retired. I hit a few trains back in the day, and a shit load of buildings, leaving my mark…letting everyone know I was there (thank you Warriors movie) but that ship has mostly sailed for me. I still got love for the “graf headz” though and support their visual creations. It’s always been art to me. People that call it vandalism can go get fucked behind a tree. Just saying.

So Chuey talked about the great artwork that blanketed the city, like tattoos on my body. I was in heaven because there was Graf everywhere you looked. I tried to absorb and study as many of the pieces as I could, but some spots were so bombed out, that it would have took an hour to catch everything on one block. It was really a wonderful site to see and even cooler that the city didn’t seem to mind either. What a wonderful arrangement. You can fight forever, but I find when two sides come to an understanding and tolerate each other, everyone wins all the time. Word to the wise.

The Street Art in Denver is so encompassing that it literally is on everywhere available surface. From buildings to windows, to trash cans and concrete bumpers in the parking lot, it is a Graf mecca and to be surrounded by so many colorful and vibrant images really made my soul feel good.

I “captured” as many images as I could and have included them in this article for your viewing pleasure. Because I see colors and the world in an intense sort of way, I decided to put a little personal spin on them as well, to give it the old “Shep vision” experience (mostly I played with the warm and cool colors, so what you see, might not have been exactly the very same colors they originally had, but I guess it’s my own way of adding some spice).

Tent City:

This is where I come to a sad part of the article and that is addressing the “tent cities” around Denver. For people who are not aware or ever seen them before, “tent cities” are exactly that. These micro societies are everywhere, if you know where to look. During my frequent rehab stays in and around Ann Arbor, I would come across these communities while walking to and from AA meetings. In Ann Arbor, under the bridge, literally at the foot of U of M Hospital is a rather large tent city, so big in fact, that the City makes garbage cans available for them. I walked through it once after getting kicked out of DFD Rehab on Liberty Street for smoking cigarettes while hanging out the third story window (this sounds reckless, but everyone in the house did it, and I wasn’t going to be the only one in my six man bedroom on the third floor to not smoke. When we were asked about it, I did the right thing and told the truth, while the others lied and tried to explain it away. I was kicked out and the other five smokers got to stay, but whatever. The placed sucked ass anyway and was little help in my fight against the brown bottle).

Tent cities are not unique to Ann Arbor or Denver or anywhere else. They are there and society has a few options on how to deal with them. For the most part, the people who have lots of money just pretend that they don’t exist and cross the street and avert their eyes to the horrible living conditions. This is wrong. These are our human brothers and sisters and a civilized society should never be allowed to treat people so badly. There are lots of ways to treat humans badly and ignoring their suffering is one of the most common ways rich people/elites choose to deal with it. I don’t believe the problem in this country is “race relations” although the rich people and the media would love for people to think that. I think the real problem is that the people in charge are rich and always have been. They have set up a “class system” in America and to divert peoples attention from it, bombard Americans with messages of division and hate. When we are all fighting each other, we forget that the people in charge have always been in charge and are responsible for the suffering of everyone else. They like it that way and keep it that way. If we are fighting each other, we forget about the real bad guys who have the real ability to “change” this country for the better. As long as the races fight themselves and are led around by special interests groups that work on behalf of the ultra rich society in this country we are fucked.

I say we all unite and take back what is ours together. That includes my African American Brothers and Sisters, my Latino Brothers and Sisters, my European Brothers and Sisters, and anyone else who has been under the boot of the English Protestant system in America. When people are ready to see who really holds us down, come find me and you’ll have a brother till the death. I swear by that.

Tent City has lots of different members in their communities and all of them have different stories and reasons for being there. Some people just hit a bad stretch of luck and caught one too many bad breaks, leading to job and home loss. Others suffer from mental disfunction either man made by substance abuse, or naturally occurring CMH problems. There are others who have arrived there for different reasons and even a few rich kids who want to try their hand at “slumming it” until college starts back up in the fall. Humans are an interesting group, and perspectives are as vast as dandelions in an unkept field.

At one point, a man dressed as a woman, holding up a sign approached our vehicle at a stop light. He (or she) seemed friendly enough and only smiled while standing next to the car. I smiled back, hoping that she (or he) would find whatever they were looking for, to ease the hard day in tent city. Others were a little more “loud” or aggressive. On Welton Street, we observed a man waiving a bag of chips wildly in the street before taking off his shirt and throwing it on the ground repeatedly. After that, he began to argue with a pigeon that had started to eat some of the spilled chips. The shirtless and agitated man was not happy about it and demanded that the pigeon leave his corner forever more (Poe). Oddly enough, the pigeon seemed to understand and literally walked away from the upset dude, as if on command. It was impressive and sad all the same. As we pulled away with a green light I turned back to see the man, yelling at the traffic. It was 5pm and I was sure that his day was going to be a long one.

As we passed by a wonderful stone government building (perhaps the Capitol building?) I couldn’t help but contrast that million dollar immaculate structure with a side by side of tent city. What the fuck is going on in America today? What good is a million dollar stone building anyway, if people are talking to pigeons, starving, and living in tents less than 200 yards away. How can you have a fucking four billion dollar airport, when people in town are shitting and pissing on the sidewalk, with no access to water, and no way to feed themselves?

Is it really possible in the “greatest nation on earth” to treat other humans so piss poor? The government mismanages everything they touch, burn fucking money, and we don’t have a couple of million laying around to get these people into some form of housing. I find this completely un-acceptable and I stand by it. I don’t care if you can fly to Mars or put a man on the moon, when we have disgusting suffering on the ground floor. I don’t avert my eyes and think that anyone that can support this “system” that the government fully supports, whether they explicitly say it out loud or not is bullshit. People know what I mean and anyone who finds this offensive or vulgar is probably the real problem. Ok, enough of that talk. It just needed to be said and I did, so I’m moving on.

Stoney’s Bar and Grill:

All the running around had caused me, Carlito, and Chuey to become rather hungry and it was time to fill up the tank. Chuey said he knew a cool place called “Stoney’s Bar and Grill” located on 1111 Lincoln Street in a neat part of the city. We sauntered in and were greeted by some nice help staff, who directed us to a table in the back, which suited us just fine. It felt good to take a load off and get a hot plate of food. I ordered a “Denver Steak and Cheese” which is really just a Philly Steak and Cheese, made in Colorado.

The food and the atmosphere was really good. About the only complaint I had about the place was that no one uses menu’s anymore, instead opting for the stupid bar code shit on the table. I’m not with this and think it’s a travesty. Maybe I don’t have a phone that can compute the code, or maybe, just maybe I want to hold the god damn menu in my hand. I don’t like reading off a cellphone screen or watching movies or whatever the hell people do with them. I’m old school and I am fine with simpler time, at least with some things. A menu definitely falls into that category. Why should the phone companies know where we are eating? Why should we hand over our information so freely? Fuck all that.

Besides the computer software trouble with the menu, we enjoyed ourselves on a Thursday in Denver. We were geeked about the show going down the next day, and talked about the shops we had visited. The prices weren’t bad at Stoney’s and we escaped at just around fifty bucks or so. I would go back there again if I had the chance and would also recommend their food, as it was very tasty.

Homebase 2944 Welton in the Five Points Neighborhood:

After fueling back up on good food, we headed over to the Airbnb to check into our new home for the next few days. Chuey dropped us off and then left for some other engagements but promised to catch back up with us later. We checked out the digs, and were happy with the accommodations. There was a good sized bedroom, a living room with a fold out bed, some furniture, a fridge, a microwave, and a full sized bathroom and tub. The house was located in the historic Five Points Neighborhood, which I covered in some depth in part 1 of the series yesterday. Please see the first article if you want to learn more about the area and the rental.

There was a nice and private backyard which was fenced in and a dope patio area to call home. We kicked back and relaxed for awhile, letting everything sink in proper. We got “high” on life and Carlito broke out the sounds (although the speaker would be lost by the end of trip, never to be heard from again). We started grooving on some oldies and new shit, just taking it all in. We were in the city and things were all right. The “Death by Denver” show was going down in one day and soon we would be at the historic Roxy Theatre, which is also on Welton, just over four blocks away from homebase.

What happened next:

Later on in the evening we were joined by Rudy “Rude Boy” Hill, Happy the Clown, and Mosh Pit Mike. We took to the city and began our takeover on the street level. Around 10:30pm we decided to get mobile and started walking down Welton in search of good times and debauchery. Eventually we found a dope spot, although I can’t recall the name of it. The music was loud, the people were rock and rolling, and we took our seats in the middle of the room. You can always tell a lot about a place by the music that they play. This bar was amazing and blew my mind at one point when I finished telling DJ Carlito about “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” song and then it came on over the speakers of the bar. Gordan Lightfoot is not exactly the kind of shit you hear in a hip town bar, especially not after a story about the guy by some Murder Mitten patrons. But it happened and I knew that we were right on time for a great night of stories and fast approaching dope show at the Roxy Theatre.

The bartenders kept sending free drinks over to our table and the boys were happy. As the night worn out, the talking got louder, people got drunker, and interesting things started happening all around us. From the tough chick, repeatedly falling all over the bar, to the weird guy in a silk kimono near the door. It was a lively place and if I could remember the name, I would recommend it, but that’s how it goes sometimes. You know….that one place? Oh yeah…on a street in a city. Yup. Shit.

2:30am Muchos Taco Truck:

As we made our way down Welton in the darkness, it was suddenly apparent that some of the gang needed to eat before any more progress could be made in the walk home. Out of nowhere appeared a magical taco truck that seemed to be right on time. Myself and Rude Boy quickly brought twenty dollars worth of taco’s and devoured them on the walk home. The crew was in happy spirits and as tired as I was, I wished the night would never end. Somedays just end perfect and this was one of them. In good company, mobbing around, getting loud, and having fun. Here’s to having a good time.

That is all the space and time we have for part 2. Please tune in tomorrow for the stunning conclusion and coverage of the “Death By Denver” concert which went down at the Roxy. Featuring Ouija Macc and DJ Chunk, Scum, Cody Manson, and many more. Don’t miss it.

Signing Off,

Mike Shepard

ROX-TV Head Writer

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