Gypsy

30 09 2007

Yes, this makes three entries in less than 24 hours. I can catch up. How about you?

When I left off, I was sitting in my hotel in Brownwood, Texas with drink coupons burning holes in my pocket. Monday Night Football was failing to hold my attention, even though it was the Saints vs. the Titans (a rematch of sorts… Vince Young and Reggie Bush). So I made the short walk to the “lounge”.

As I walked in, the other seven people there barely noticed – just like I wanted. One of the bartenders (by the way, how is that for a ratio? Two bartenders for eight patrons?) was putting a CD in the player. It appeared to be a disc of Fleetwood Mac’s greatest hits. Heads slowly bobbed to lines like “Thunder only happens when it’s raining” and a few of the extroverts even quietly mouthed lyrics as songs played.

Talk about a time warp…

I do, however, enjoy some Fleetwood Mac. Unfortunately, I never heard ‘Landslide’ while redeeming my coupons. Also, the greatness of ‘Bleed To Love Her’ is evidently not on either of their greatest hits collections. Shame.

When I was nearing my escape, thinking about how lucky I was to have entered for two free beers without having to be social, Charlie introduced himself. And, alas, Charlie had had a bit too much.

He was the typical redneck construction guy except – get this – he specializes in seating. Whether it be bleachers or auditoriums, chances are Charlie’s stinky paws have been all over them. He proceeded to regale me with stories about how he took on 15 guys (in a fight, not the other way) just two nights before to protect his uncle with whom he works with.

The uncle, by the way, looked exactly like Jerry Jones, only a foot shorter and minus a few ear-lifts. And Charlie? Five foot six at the most. But, rather than call bullshit on his story, I listened and faked awe. Amusement has no bounds at times.

Not long after Charlie came over to hand me his windbag of manure, a woman discreetly approached him and said that one of the bartenders wanted to talk to him by the restroom. The 32 year old man-child, thinking this was his lucky night, quickly headed that way. Once he was gone, the woman gave me a knowing nod and I knew what was up… He was being asked to leave. But not because of his actions. Evidently, his Uncle Jerry was far more gone than remote viewing let on.

I guess players only love you when they’re playing.

I left a generous tip and slipped quietly into that good night… thankful for the opportunity to do so.

My gypsy week would go on.

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3 responses

1 10 2007
Katy

You guys need to come down here and head over to the Safari Lounge (AKA Dead Animal Bar) with me one night. There are some characters in there. It’s a locals bar, and let me tell you, ain’t no white trash like Keys white trash. If you serve $1.50 drafts, they will come…

1 10 2007
Dawn

Katy bug I think you need to give us two weeks and head to Austin for some Sam’s Boat action. Maybe that homeless guy is still there watching his brick and moving it from tree to tree.

1 10 2007
Dawn

Speaking of Key’s white trash. It was John who said when he dies he wants cremation and for his ashes to be put in an empty Keystone can. Sigh.

What if the can was still wet inside and John’s ashed mixed with the leftover Keystone and made a paste?

Hmmmm…..

And would that paste make a good BBQ rub?

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