Go to Ellum

11:20: Four guys dressed in Ellis County police garb stand outside super-huge dance club Uropa. I ask why they're here--shouldn't Dallas cops work this part of town? They say that they're subcontracted, off-duty officers. No further comment. I still haven't seen a Dallas cop.

11:25: I'm finally propositioned by a panhandler. When I try to interview him, he gets nervous and walks off, so I speak to a well-dressed black man sitting on a nearby curb. He was released from jail earlier in the day after serving six months for burglary, and he says he's "just looking for a party." I shake his hand and walk to the Gypsy Tea Room, where I immediately down a shot of tequila--I didn't think I'd meet my first ex-con so early in the night, for Christ's sake. The Gypsy offers a calm, relaxed scene as concertgoers wait for the next country band to take the stage.

11:40: The Trees concert must've let out, because the 7-11 at Good Latimer and Elm is filled with sweaty emo teens buying Big Gulps. The panhandler I'd met is walking through the checkout aisle and bugging the kids for change. Outside, I finally see a Dallas cop. Four of them, actually, and they're writing their first anti-cruising ticket, even though the streets are only beginning to fill with cruisers--people who drive through Deep Ellum all night to blare their stereo systems and show off their cars. It's a Deep Ellum trend that has grown exponentially in the past few years, and in spite of anti-cruising laws, I suspect that this ticket won't do much to stem tonight's tide of big cars, loud systems and expensive rims.

12:20: At Club Dada, I run into Matt Kellum (Chomsky, Peter Schmidt Band) and Jess Barr (Slobberbone, The Drams), both of whom used to play in Deep Ellum quite often. Neither has been to the district in a year. "It's not the reputation," Barr says. "Any place worth seeing shows at has to be a little rough. It's just that Deep Ellum doesn't support the scene anymore. People aren't here for music." They also talk about bands they know who used to rehearse in Deep Ellum and had their cars broken into on a repeated basis. "They refuse to come back," Kellum says.

12:24: As I walk out, I talk to Beard, the bald door guy at Dada. "I just saw four well-dressed black guys walk down the street grabbing door handles. Meanwhile, there are cops right down there," and he points at policemen writing a ticket down the block. "Dallas cops do a great job, man. There just aren't enough of 'em."

12:30-1:20: The streets are emptying, as most patrons have found their club of choice, so I duck into a few venues and see bad band after bad band after bad band. Most of it is lousy pseudo-metal, but nearby rap and country acts are just as boring.

1:35: A stomach cramp hits me--I blame the music. At 7-11, the store's sole bathroom has an "out of order" sign. I cross the street and order a sandwich at Subway, and after eating half of it (and watching cruisers through the window), I walk to the bathroom. It, too, is out of order. "Can't use," the clerk says. He explains that "all the places in Deep Ellum" close their bathrooms after 8 p.m. on weekend nights because "people come in and do drugs." I give him a puzzled look. "Even I can't use them," he responds. "I go in the alley." Gives new meaning to "eat fresh."

1:45: I sit and reflect on my night so far. The sidewalks aren't packed and the concerts have ended (though the dance clubs are still bumping). The music has sucked (aside from Fort Worth's Goodwin, who rocked Club Dada earlier), and a few bums walk the streets, but no fights have broken out and nobody's screamed bloody murder. Deep Ellum isn't all that bad.

1:53: As I walk toward Nairobi, I see two groups of people pass each other, one of which tries to pick a fight. "Fuck yo' bitch! Fuck yo' stupid ho!" Luckily, both groups keep on walking.

1:58: What was that? I hear popping noises and see a crowd gather on Main Street, and as I get closer, a guy starts screaming. "He was maced," a passerby tells me. "Resisted arrest." The man, surrounded by cops, is soon loaded into a paddy wagon, where he continues to scream.

2:05: Nairobi and Club Hush kick their patrons out, which means Main Street's sidewalks are packed. Nobody's going anywhere, either, with large swarms of people milling about. A cop approaches with a flashlight and shines it in everyone's eyes. "Keep moving! Keep moving!" Nobody moves very far. But these people just finished their last drinks--must Dallas police shuffle them into their cars so quickly? Hell, the street is closed to traffic for the sake of extra pedestrians. I don't understand the rush.