It’s kind of a slow day here in Neonsville. I think old Tony Spunk has developed a touch of the lurgee. I am not sure where this dastardly pestilence came from but it is making all my orifices weep simultaneously and this is not a good look for any guy or gal. I blame that little Veronica for keeping me up all hours when a guy should be catching zzzzzs.
No shows till the weekend, so some time to recover at least. Plus, I thought I needed a break to perform some necessary organ maintenance and some precious downtime after too many Martinis in seedy bars over a short period. Detoxing is not so fun but pretty required in my job unless you want to wake up one day look in the mirror and see Liza Minnelli staring back at you. That could put a dude off his Cornflakes.
Plus the ladies do not dig the washed out, baggy-eyed look. And the general consensus is, Tony Spunk loves the ladies and wants them to appreciate him at his full, shiny glory.
Y’all know it’s true gals.
Talking of the ladies, a little story for you. Pedro played a set with a pop piano quartet just before he left for California. The place he played was a little family bar near Henderson, which, despite the piano quartet thing, wasn’t really as classy as it sounds. Sadly, it’s also an establishment he can never visit again, after he referred repeatedly to the owner’s wife as, “Senor” and attempted to bust a wrestling move on her in the bar. He really thought that lady was a dude.
Upon questioning from me later (naturally, after the cops were done with him, “No hablo Ingles! No hablo Ingles!”) he was still in shock at his mistake.
“…pero el bigote….” he kept muttering, incredulously, under his breath.
That guy. He’s gonna get in real trouble some day.