Ormazd´s Big Bash or the Farce of Life – Chapter 8


Chapter 8

         He should have been exhausted, but he was still amped up on the crank.  Bill, the drummer, had given him some during the last break.  It had been a pretty good crowd.  They´d whooped and hollered it up in the beginning, but they´d thinned out before the last set.  It was often like that in these two-bit roadhouses.  He´d been playin´ in ´em since he dropped out of high school in his sophomore year.

He thought he´d have made it by now.  He knew he was good.  The best. Nobody could play licks like he could.  With this band alone, they´d made nine CDs, and he´d written most of the material himself, the best of it anyway.  They still had boxes of them gatherin´ dust in the motor home, because, for some reason, not many of ´em had sold.  Only a few, usually from the display they set up behind the bar wherever they played. “People in these places ain´t got no taste,” he thought.

He had a bunch of songs they´d never recorded too.  The band didn´t like playin´ ` em.  He tried to tell him that they needed more raunchy, bad ass, sexually charged shit, to get them more on the cutting edge, but they wouldn´t listen.  Maybe it was time for a new band.  These guys were gettin´ on his nerves lately anyway.  All they wanted to do was get high and practice.  Practice practice practice. He was tire of it. He didn´t need to practice.  He had it down!  “These guys are just holdin´ me back.”

They were out back now, smokin´ some weed before they had to break everything down and pack up.  Personally, he was more interested in washin´ some of the sweat off and straightenin´ up a little, and goin´ up front to see if that pretty little brunette was still hangin´ around.  She´d been givin´ him the eye all night.  He still had some of the crank in his pocket, and it would serve those guys right if he left with her without helpin´ load up.  “I wonder what kind of car she´s got?” he thought.

He came out of the bathroom and strutted back across the stage towards the bar, where she was still sittin´ alone on a stool.  He knew he looked good!

Suddenly, he tripped over one of the amp or speaker cords, and crashed into the drum set.  “Fuck,” he said, sprawled out on the floor.  He reached up and felt blood on his forehead, where he musta cut it on the high hat.

Then, he looked up and saw the bass player, walkin´ over to the girl.  She was smilin´ at him.  The bass player looked at him up on the stage, where he sat with blood runnin´ down his face, so he raised up his hand, and gave him the bird.

“He must be pissed `cause I crowded him out on that last number and wouldn´t let him do his solo,” he thought.

Then the bass player and the girl walked out the door together.  “Fuckin´ asshole!  Runnin´ off before we even started to break down!  And to top it off, he couldn´t keep time worth shit tonight, `cause he was so jacked!”

He looked back down, and there, on top of one of the monitors, was an envelope, someone had left.  Maybe someone was sharin´ some good dope with the band!

He opened it, and pulled out the card inside, then turned the envelope upside down over his had.  Nothin.  He unfolded the note and read it.  “Damn! A party!  I wonder if they´d pay us to play?”

The bartender was washin´up the dirty glasses behind the bar.  “Hey Frank!  Did you see who left this here?”


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