By J.J. Colagrande

01_thelonious-horowitz5When I kicked it with Melody Rain she lived in Frisco and still went to community college in the East Bay. That was like two summers ago. Let me tell you something: Melody doesn’t give a fuck about Botany or VCC or the AA degree. She lives her life to a different degree. A degree you can’t get in college. She travels with no money and parties without buying drugs and fucks and fucks and remembers to forget it all. Stoops. What good to her are the Latin names of plants? For exercise, for fun, she rides a broken down twentieth century fin-de-siecle and her horizon doesn’t stretch further than tomorrow. That bitch believes in a prolonged derangement of her senses, if and only if the party defines decadence inside and out. Melody’s got the rock star steez. She fears nothing, in the least what is unknown. Melody loves beautiful people. She loves Rastafari. She even loves death, but compared to death I’m sure she’d prefer a sandwich from the Irie Café. Sometimes I think of Melody Rain as an impostafari, but stoops, who am I to judge? I will say Melody got a ba dunk-a dunk butt. I’ll judge that, son. And I will say I turned that Shiite out.


If you liked this, check out Thelonious reminisce about San Francisco