hangover's disability: ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- what the heck Away from the noise, a quiet little pub and what it used to be. Back in the day before the uninteresting investors. Two mid - 20 - something girls are playing a game of pool. Or billiards, if you like; or perhaps snooker. Of course I'm looking at them. They're attractive and giddy, sporting boys Levi jeans and tank tops of different colors that I can barely recognize due to my color blindness. “red or dark orange? purple or violet?” Anyway, I'm at least 10 years their elder so I go back to the needed equipment list, which produces noise. A dreadful noise at that. I read the list aloud yet in a mumble. "Ampeg head" and there is an interruption. What are you writing It’s one of the pool playing energetic in the purple or violet colored tank top, starting up a conversation. “pardon?” My friend and I are having a bet. I guessed that you were creating a list of jobs. Where you’re going to shop, what you’re going to fix around your living quarters, or an agenda for the rest of the weekend. My friend thinks you’re writing a song, or a poem, or perhaps a loving letter to a possible or existing partner. You’re drinking a Guinness, that’s not such a common grab around here. It got my attention. So what is it you’re writing “A suicide note”. I know, it’s a dishonest answer. And the dark orange, or red tank top girl steps forward with widening eyes and disbelief, stating what? “a suicide note” and I look at them blankly. No…, no. No. You cannot be writing a suicide not “what the hell? You think I didn’t go to elementary school. I learned how to write” No says the purple, or violet, or maybe even blue colored tank top now that she’s stepping closer to me No! No. You. Are. Not! The dark orange / red / maybe burgundy steps towards my table with somewhat scared or sad eyes. Why do you want to kill yourself? Why do you want your loved ones to hear a suicide note. What drove you to this? “My job. I cannot take my job anymore. There’s no way out so this is the only way” What is your job? said …, oh I don’t know. ONE OF THEM! “I paint tiny ball bearings by hand. They won’t let me use the machine” and the one with the disbelief face replies What? What is that? What do you mean? “I paint tiny ball bearings that go into the wheels of skateboards. So the boys of dogtown can skate their hearts house” NO YOU DON’T! Oh. No.You.Do.Not Apparently I do not tell a a convincing story. Anyway. We played the pool game of “cutthroat”. They went to the gig. I had sex with some other girl. Or maybe it was one of them? It was a long time ago. 1:47 p.m. - April 23, 2019 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Al is playing the Gibson..., maybe the Strat"
"Rick is the normal. 5 piece set ...., and beer"
"dear sensitive Martin will clutch is heart, have a panic attack, fear of being boo'd on stage. We'll need more beer and perhaps a happy pill that will send him into .... "
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