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| The New York Optimist |
"Walt Cessna"
Children of The Rave
Children of The Rave
“Girls, I’m gonna get going—have a good night,” I offer, while trying to make a tasteful and
unobtrusive exit. The girls pay no attention as I leave and the tension in the air remains thick. As I
turn the corner, I take one last look and see Chanel get punched in the face by Chloe. Persephone
and Troll wrestle Chanel to the ground, swiping the money out of her hands. Chanel grasps at the
other girls’ legs and feet to no avail. The last thing I see is Chloe kicking Chanel square in the
mouth, then turning and walking away. My head is spinning. I didn’t expect any of this. Chanel is
picking herself up and brushing off her pants. I start to walk back toward her but as our eyes meet I
can sense she is embarrassed.
“Those bitches! They stole my money and now I got a bloody lip!” Chanel was crying now, and biting
her top lip so hard it probably was bleeding more than it should have. I reached out my hand to
steady her now uncontrollable shaking body but she slaps it away. “Why don’t you write about how
those bitches stole my money!” Chanel gets up and begins to stalk down lower Broadway, defiance
in her stride, insecurity in her tears. Before I turn to leave, I look down at the sidewalk and spy the
gold wedding ring. Before I can even decide whether or not to pick it up, Stan, the homeless man
who begs in front of Pottery Barn, has scooped up his treasure for the day and slides it on his
finger. Smiling at his reflection in the window of McDonald’s, Stan stares himself straight in the face
and wonders aloud, “Will you marry me?” With that, he laughs and skips down the street.
Children of the Rave
Text & photos by Walt Cessna
Chanel, Chloe, Persephone and Troll have just taken a break from the dance floor and are
relaxing on the beat-up sofas casually positioned about the nearly pitch black chill-out room in
the back of this once-a week rave. I first met the four of them at a NASA rave back in February
and hung out with them once in a while.
Text & photos by Walt Cessna
Chanel, Chloe, Persephone and Troll have just taken a break from the dance floor and are
relaxing on the beat-up sofas casually positioned about the nearly pitch black chill-out room in
the back of this once-a week rave. I first met the four of them at a NASA rave back in February
and hung out with them once in a while.
I’m getting the dirt on how the girls managed to convince
their parents to let them out again after they have all been
busted so many times. Chanel, 13, told her mother she was
staying over at Pesephone’s house. Persephone, 14, told her
mother she was staying over at Chloe’s House, conveniently
forgotten to mention that Chloe, 14, ran away from her home
in Vancouver six months ago and now lives in the Chelsea
Hotel with her 20 Year old girlfriend Dorothy and Dorothy’s
five year old daughter Alice. When Persephone stays over,
she sleeps on a piece of foam that sits out all day on the fire
escape underneath a huge potted fern that hasn’t been
pruned in about eight years. Chanel would stay at the
Chelsea, but she has asthma and can’t handle sleeping
outside by the street where the fumes “get to me.” So Chanel
stays at Troll’s house. Troll is lucky enough to live with her
filthy rich father on the Upper East Side, in a menacing condo
reminiscent of the one in Sliver. Papa Troll is hardly at home
and leaves Troll (who, at 12 and barely more than a baby, tells
everyone she’s 16, but really looks about 11) at home to fend
for her-self.
their parents to let them out again after they have all been
busted so many times. Chanel, 13, told her mother she was
staying over at Pesephone’s house. Persephone, 14, told her
mother she was staying over at Chloe’s House, conveniently
forgotten to mention that Chloe, 14, ran away from her home
in Vancouver six months ago and now lives in the Chelsea
Hotel with her 20 Year old girlfriend Dorothy and Dorothy’s
five year old daughter Alice. When Persephone stays over,
she sleeps on a piece of foam that sits out all day on the fire
escape underneath a huge potted fern that hasn’t been
pruned in about eight years. Chanel would stay at the
Chelsea, but she has asthma and can’t handle sleeping
outside by the street where the fumes “get to me.” So Chanel
stays at Troll’s house. Troll is lucky enough to live with her
filthy rich father on the Upper East Side, in a menacing condo
reminiscent of the one in Sliver. Papa Troll is hardly at home
and leaves Troll (who, at 12 and barely more than a baby, tells
everyone she’s 16, but really looks about 11) at home to fend
for her-self.
These underage ravers make the nightclub scene on a regular basis. To Chanel, Chloe, Persephone and Troll, it is an
experience that constitutes their entire existence, at least for now. Lives that were once caught up in the doldrums of
non-dyed hair, un-baggy clothing and that extremely boring subject, school, now revolve around much more important
matters, such as how to get on the list for Limelight’s Tuesday-night release party for techno master Moby’s new
album. The girls used to show up for homeroom at least, but when they discovered how easy it was to erase the school
secretary’s absentee message on their parents’ answering machine they decided to totally diss school and spend the
rest of their teenage years hanging out on St. Mark’s begging quarters, stealing Vogue from Gem Spa and eating $3
Dojo soy burgers that they split four ways.
The girls go to their respective homes every night (unless the sleep over excuse is in use) and meet
each morning at the spinning cube on Astor Place and proceed to terrorize humanity from there. Since
Troll’s Dad always leaves her with some money, she takes care of expenditures such as food, movies,
nightclub admissions, smart bar or real bar drinks, taxis, phone quarters, and most importantly, drugs.
When Troll’s funds run out (usually by Wednesday), the fearless foursome resort to begging, stealing,
lying, bribing, conniving and manipulating their friends to loan them money and buy them drinks, having
to make out with fat doormen or security guards to get in free to clubs. Worst of all, they face the
impending doom of Chloe’s dangerous liaison with Leo, the local Ecstasy and Special K dealer who has
been fronting the girls their daily drug dosage for two weeks now, thanks to Chloe’s persuasive kisses
and whispered promises.
On Mondays the girls begin their evening by hanging out
on lower Broadway between SoHo and St. Mark’s Place.
Chanel’s sister works at a shop on St. Mark’s and gives
the girls a great five-finger discount. They walk in and
pocket what they want while Chanel’s sister looks the
other way.
Tonight’s shoplifting spree completed, I meet the girls in
front of McDonald’s. As they cut through the crowd and
head toward me, they begin to pull clothes out from under
their jackets and from deep within their bags. Persephone
squats down in a corner, reaches up under her skirt and
pulls out a bright green, yellow and red plaid kilt. She
immediately tears off the price tag and proceeds to layer it
directly over her own fucked-up black jeans. Chloe
shrugs up her multi-stripe 555-Soul oversize hoody and
displays a new pair of suede pants that she has wrapped
around her shrunken-looking torso. The three other girls
rally around her in disbelief, marveling at the fact that she
got the clothes past that nosy bag-check girl despite such
an obvious lump under her shirt.
on lower Broadway between SoHo and St. Mark’s Place.
Chanel’s sister works at a shop on St. Mark’s and gives
the girls a great five-finger discount. They walk in and
pocket what they want while Chanel’s sister looks the
other way.
Tonight’s shoplifting spree completed, I meet the girls in
front of McDonald’s. As they cut through the crowd and
head toward me, they begin to pull clothes out from under
their jackets and from deep within their bags. Persephone
squats down in a corner, reaches up under her skirt and
pulls out a bright green, yellow and red plaid kilt. She
immediately tears off the price tag and proceeds to layer it
directly over her own fucked-up black jeans. Chloe
shrugs up her multi-stripe 555-Soul oversize hoody and
displays a new pair of suede pants that she has wrapped
around her shrunken-looking torso. The three other girls
rally around her in disbelief, marveling at the fact that she
got the clothes past that nosy bag-check girl despite such
an obvious lump under her shirt.
It’s Chanel’s turn to display her loot. She slowly unzips her Day-Glo yellow knapsack and it strikes me
funny that the hands of this usually nonchalant girl are shaking uncontrollably. She notices me staring
and a forced smile spreads across her frozen face.
“It’s like scoring drugs,” she explains, offering an explanation that wasn’t asked for or necessary. “You’
re so nervous until you’ve actually got the shit in your hands that you almost forget to relax.” I’m not
going to judge her—I shoplifted when I was in high school, too.
Chanel jolts me back to reality when
she pulls a miniature, black quilted Chanel purse out of her knapsack.
“What is that?” Troll asks Chanel.
“This snotty rich lady was trying on earrings when I was trying to snatch some for myself,” says Chanel.
“She kept looking at me and giving me attitude, like she was hogging the mirror! So I knock into her
and push her out of my way. She gets real pissed and storms off toward the door. When I turn around
to pocket the earrings she dropped, I look down on the floor and notice her purse next to the counter.
It must have fallen out of her tote bag, but shit, who cares! So I put it in my knapsack and got out of the
store! Let’s see what’s in it!”
It’s awfully easy to notice how something this convenient could quickly become addictive. I must look
overly concerned, and my fear has become apparent. The girls are looking up at me like I’m their older
brother, or worse yet, their dad.
“It’s not like we do this all the time,” Chanel says earnestly.
“Yeah, besides, that lady has a lot more money where this
came from!” Chanel has opened the purse and pulled out
three crisp one hundred dollar bills and a gold wedding ring
with a rather chunky rock attached to it. It was obviously very
expensive, but the value of the ring was lost on the girls, who
were much more impressed by the cold hard cash and the easy
escape it would bring.
“This is a blessing!” Chloe is shrieking. “Now we can pay back
Leo for the Ecstasy and I won’t have to screw him!”
“What makes you think I’m gonna share this money with you
Chloe?” Chanel says in a slightly raised voice.
“Well then why did you share the Ecstasy and Special K that I
got all of us fronted for the past 14 days!” Chloe was obviously
not amused by the sudden betrayal.
“Hey guys, let’s not get stupid, okay?” Troll whispers. “I thought we were all friends.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck, Troll! I’m sick of Chloe always dictating what goes on. Who made her queen for the fucking
day? For once, I’m going to do something that doesn’t require a group decision.”
“Then perhaps it’s time this unfriendly foursome became a threesome.” Persephone had finally entered the fray, and
judging from Chanel’s face, her statement had made little or no impression.
“Persephone, why don’t you shut the fuck up and get the hell out of my face!” Chanel was now standing directly in
front of her three friends, all of who had now formed a human wall and were standing up against their suddenly dubious
acquaintance.
