A call from a keyboard player led to a nice little gig on Friday.
While there, the same guy tells me - "...and another tomorrow."
Assumes I heard or knew something I hadn't.
Signals cross, and rather than the mid day thing I had been expecting Saturday afternoon, turned instead to be an opening act at a nice little club close by, in the early evening.
That's okay...stoners and musicians have that in common. Details seem to slip by. Details...
When the guy doing the booking is a stoner musician, hooboy.
This is the guy that has forgotten such essentials as the power supply for his keyboard.
I am laughing, no, really I am. (He has the good weed!)
We're playing some simple RTF tunes (yes, there are a couple, No Mystery) and found our groove. Some heads are bobbing, fingers snapping.
And then...
Since Thursday I have been making signs of the cross, using my voodoo dolls and praying to the Hooch God all to ward off the latest flu going around.
About halfway through the third tune, a really loose arrangement of Loopsy Loo and I felt my chest tighten and my head gave me a slight twinge, near my right eye.
(This is where this degenerates into a diatribe about aging)
Might have been love, were that applicable, but no, it's the M&^therf%$k*ng flu.
So I was getting happier, more gigs means more of everything I love, maybe even some money. And now this?
G'night
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