this is me
A big, steaming cup of coffee -..
A big, steaming cup of coffee - you see a theme here?! -
scorches my bottom lip and tongue as I watch those around
me in the bar. A petite girl, perhaps my age, maybe a
touch younger, has just finished a set and quickly packs
away her guitar. She pulls a bright white cardigan over a
plain brown tee shirt and within minutes is gone. I only
caught her last song - something about nobody having the
answers yet; pleasant, nothing new or special. Now I'm
wondering if there'll be other acts or was she the last?
The usual bar-gig debris is strewn across one corner of the
bar - half a drum kit, a couple of small amps, a tangle of
wires and leads, two SM58s on stands tower over a wedge-
shaped monitor. I look up and around - within three feet
of me are half a dozen posters advertising "Music Live
Weekend". God I'm such a div. "Bar Pacific" (Thats
here) "Sun - 2pm-11pm". As if on cue, a brace of long-
haired muso types stumble through the door carrying an
oversized marshall stack between them. They are dressed
identically in worn blue jeans and faded brown cord
jackets. Suddenly the stage - if you could call it that -
is crowded with gear.
Two middle-aged guys look on, their expressions twitching
between interest and mild irritation. I don't think
they're here for the music. I notice with slight suprise
that they are drinking VK Ice. Its not long before they
get up and leave.
(c) mike curd 2003