Guest Post :: Dylan Ettinger

I heard enough various Dylan Ettinger tracks last year to know the guys make killer music, but it wasn't until November that I finally had the chance to sit down with New Age Outlaws and give it a good listen. Since my first spin of the album I've been thrilled by the music Dylan makes, but what's more interesting is the world that all of his music is constructed upon. Dylan recently shared with me this short story in which NAO is based around and asked me to share with you guys. We both hope you dig it. Oh, and go ahead and press play on this jam before you start reading. (The story continues after the jump and then in your head.)

New Age Outlaws by Dylan Ettinger

“Lights” he mumbled. The filthy fluorescent bulb overhead buzzed and failed to come to life. The dimmers on his windows were fried and the headlights of passing hovercars and mobile ads danced seductively across the walls and ceiling of his dreary room. The place smelled like dank cardboard; stale, synthetic cheese and skunked beer.

He rustled through a pile of empty bottles and takeout boxes, pulled out his spare pad and plugged in his goggles as he collapsed into his old recliner. His newer, faster computer had been destroyed in the chase. He hadn't logged on all day and was getting anxious. On his first attempt to log in to the network, red letters burned against the back-lit projection screen, flashing between indecipherable Chinese characters and English. EMPLOYMENT TERMINATED. “Fuck me,” he groaned. Gordon smashed his pad against the table, cracking the display. A dull, red light still flickered from what remained of the shattered screen.

The beat was all he had left. Gordon had been working the force for fourteen years now, and sacrificed almost everything. Things around the department were an unprecedented wreck since the Chinese technocrats bought out his precinct. They wouldn't let the American cops do their fucking jobs, bogging them down in endless piles of punitive paperwork for the tiniest breach of etiquette. The privatization and subsequent buyout of the police, emergency response and fire departments by foreign tech firms had really sunk New York down to an all-time low. This city ain't what it used to be.

Gordon reached for a half-empty fifth of black market Kentucky bourbon and began drinking from it like a baby with a bottle. His head still reeled from the events of the previous few hours. How the hell was he going to pay to replace the repulsors on his squad car now? Who was that thug with the crosses tattooed on his face and what the fuck was he doing robbing the geological survey? Who is Shandor? And why had he been fired? God knows this wasn't the first car he had totaled. This whole deal stank worse than the waterfront on a hot August afternoon. As he finished his bottle, he began to sink into the worn down leather, relaxing for the first time in nearly forty hours. “Gotta go see Rico,” he muttered to himself, drowsy. “Rico always knows”. Patterns of crisscrossing lines darted behind his heavy eyelids as Gordon began to drift away from consciousness.

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