The place was already filling up with post-lunch drinkers. I ended up in a run-down bar, not far from the hotel. Wana sat opposite me, in my jeans and t-shirt, staring into space; I didn't trust leaving her with my stuff in my room, so I brought her along for food; she didn't have any everyday clothes so I lent her mine. We had ordered a couple of sandwiches with chips, the waitress sloshed some beer on me as she put my pint on the table.
A group of old guys in wide brimmed cowboy hats were moving instruments onto the stage. Great, just what I need, country and western music, I don't feel like listening, but I'm sure the familiar sound will make me feel right at home here, I guess that's why cowboys like it. “Pardon?” Wana said.
“Huh? I didn't say anything.” I replied, slightly annoyed.
“Yes you did, you shouted out loudly, 'I guess that's why cowboys like it.'”
I noticed that a couple of the band members had paused in their tasks to stare at me, “Oh, I suppose I must have been thinking aloud.”
She smiled at me, “Oh. Okay.” then relaxed her face to continue staring into the thin air.
A young boy dropped a pink paper on the table, it soaked up some of the spilt beer. It was a flyer for an event. Something to do, I peeled the soggy leaflet off the table and turned it around so I could read it:
Welcome, welcome, welcome. Welcome to reading this wonderful leaflet. No doubt you have taken your first few steps to becoming a new man (or woman) by opening the gates of your mind to this print, please step inside (mind the gap) to my wonderful world ...
Hello, hello, hello, my name is Steve Burns and I am a world renowned expert on Life Improvement and I want to share my knowledge with you so that you can improve YOUR life TOO and become the person that you WANT to be. Come and start your journey of self-discovery, self-exploration, and self-MASTERY, join many others to hear the SECRETS OF SUCCESS. Date, time and place details below! Places are limited, so book a seat today and see you there!Two plates of food landed on the table. I made a mental note of the date and time, three days from now, and folded the paper into my jeans pocket. The speakers squealed from feedback and everyone turned to the microphone; the cowboy was up. He was a real American cowboy, or at least gave that impression. His voice was dry and strained, “Howdy ladies and gentlemen,” he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, his neck wobbled as he spat phlegm into it. He cleared his throat, “wow, what a great turn out,”
Wow, these wrinkle skinned losers really think they are big celebrities or something. Wana shooshed me.
The old man on stage looked at me, “appreciate everyone for supporting us tonight! We're going to start with a favourite of ours that some of the older folk in the crowd might recognize.” I quickly surveyed the room and there was nobody who looked over thirty, the band began to play.
We are here,
to make you listen,
to our song,
that we wrote
for your enjoyment
lah, lah, lah …
Wana appeared to be enjoying herself, bopping up and down to the music like a fly trapped in a spider-web. The song was quite awful, I thought these old guys would have been better, what with all their experience over the years as performers, I expected something more sophisticated from them, but maybe they weren't professionals, maybe they just started out, a career change at seventy, no wonder they suck so badly, but hey, these days people enjoy listening to crap music. Wana leaned over to speak over the noise, “Did you say something to me?” I shook my head and she switched back to dance mode. They certainly looked the part with their fancy costumes: the tall, wide brim rhinestone hats, spurs on their boots and guns.
So if you ever - ever -
have a doubt,
Just be who you want
and get back
on the track
YEEE HAWWWW!
The lead singer had completed his musical part and the instrumental took over. The drummer increased the tempo. The vocalist improvised the part of a band member taking a break from the performance, nodding his head approvingly to the music whilst scanning the crowd, as if recruiting support for the players on stage with each nod. YEEEE HAWWWW! He wailed into the microphone, out of sync with the beat, but the crowd still cheered. Like a car on a cliff without a driver, his gaze trailed off beyond the edge of the crowd into infinity. Once again, the god of bad showmanship possessed him: rhythmically, he jerked his body up and down, a fist gripped invisible reigns, and the illusion of riding a crippled horse was created. His other hand pulled a gun from the holster, and he fired a few live rounds into the air. An imaginary train robbery was taking place right before our eyes. His vacant but intent stare said, “nobody is in right now, please leave a message ...” No longer consciously involved with the same physical space and time frame – Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.
to be continued ...
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