LIVE IN CONCERT
SCOTIABANK ARENA, TORONTO
SUNDAY, 7th JULY
Gates open at 4:30 PM
Tickets $15.50, maximum 8 tickets per person
1991 KING WORLD TOUR
The first thing Ari says to himself when he wakes up in his New York hotel is 'Fuck, that was a disaster.' And it really was. Him and his backing band nearly fell apart at
more than one point -- whenever he met out to meet the couple fans that were left a little kid asked him why he sounded so bad and why "she" sounded better, which really hurt his self esteem and he had to say, 'Well, it is what it is, we'll do better next time', and laugh it off, while inside it really stung and all of his motivation was destroyed...
And "she"... whatever that was, it was a fluke. Ari still doesn't know how to feel about that.
Ari rolled out of bed lazily. His hotel room that he had been provided was fine enough. Nothing fancy, he hated more extravegant things, just a bed and a small kitchen, bathroom, and a balcony... a balcony which led to an extravegant view of Trump Tower, a couple of blocks down. He sighed, going into the bathroom and taking a shower.
After some ten minutes he left, sighing fatiguedly, and sat on the bed as he thought. These were his days to really "recover", since it usually took a day or two for him to process all of the sounds and actions and all of the fatigue and strain that his body received during the concert and whatnot... the choreography was taxxing, after all. And after that they had a couple days break; they would only fly out to Toronto the day before the concert. So he had a couple of days to layover in New York in the meantime.
Ari had never been to New York, so this was new. Maybe he'd visit Strawberry Fields -- well John Lennon was a pretty bad person so maybe not -- or go to the Statue of Liberty, or potentially the World Trade Center, or Empire State Building... the world was his oyster! He was on his own in this big ass city.
Ari wonders where Violet went after he left. Maybe she went back to her home in the Upper East Side. Maybe he could walk there and pay her a little visit... so many decisions. Maybe he should eat breakfast first. Or recover from the overdose on advil he had experienced after taking
twelve. He really needs to stop taking so many of those. But the chronic pain!
Ari wanders onto the balcony. Despite being on the twentieth or so floor he can still see and hear the mass of fans that have presumably crowded the hotel since he collapsed on the bed some three hours ago (he went to sleep fairly late, and he usually only slept around that long -- if he slept any longer, the nightmares happened). The morning sun still lingers in the sky. It's actually fairly pretty. Beats humid-ass Georgia.
Ari hums to himself as he leans on the balcony, just letting himself exist for a minute.
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