|I Miss Vermont|
Much to my delight, I noticed a gaggle of teenagers, most of whom were adorned with plastic tubes full of brightly glowing liquids of myriad colors. They were wearing them as bracelets, necklaces, or just carrying them. This only meant one thing to me: a show at The Soup Kitchen, which is only two blocks from the beer store. I ascertained that this was indeed the case, by inquiring of one of them on this subject. There was to be a performance by an "techno hippie type band." Fine with me.
I positioned myself in front of the peanut store, which is the mid point between The Soup Kitchen and the beer store. I like to play there, because during the day they will run a musician off from there, saying that only a certain combo of banjo and trombone, who are their friends, are allowed to play there. There is a heightened element of adventure, and an added thrill, which arises out of knowingly defying the peanut store's owner.
After a couple of minutes of playing for the glowing youths as they passed to and fro, I had scored a dollar, and went into the beer store to "redeem it." I was reminded that I owe the beer store 31 cents from Sunday night. It is some kind of cosmic joke to me, the fact that when I had woken up that morning, I owed every cent in my pocket, exept one, to the beer store. Some might say that "someone" is trying to tell me something.
Fortified by one beer, I went back to the spot. I was asked by a couple of girls if I had a knife, and if so, would I cut open their glow-tubes, so that they could pour the liquid all over themselves, and thereby achieve a more "glowing" effect.
|A Spitting Cobra, Spitting.|
Taking the girls tube (so to speak) and holding it with one hand, I cut into the end of it, wherupon the bright green glowing goo shot up directly into my eyes, like venom coming from a spitting cobra. It stung like hell. I couldn't open my eyes for a few seconds, (enough time for a real cobra to finish me off.) I guess I should have been paying attention to what I was doing, instead of looking past the tube, at the girl. Some might say that "someone" was trying to tell me something.
Russell, The Musician
Then, a young guy stopped and listened to me, as I hammed up a version of "Mrs. Robinson." He complimented me upon my rendition, told me that he would only be in Mobile for one more day (today,) and asked me to jam with him. He is going to come look for me here at the library. I think he has some kind of recording device, and it may be possible for me to make my first forray into the digital age, and load something up to U-Tube.