...at least you didn't spill your beer. The worst is the lights come on, you can't buy a beer, but the one you ordered to drink after the show while you are packing up, falls off the speaker and the glass breaks. The staff are fleeing the club, the booze is locked up, and the owner is waiting for you to put your stuff in the van so he can go home. The last solitary beer, laying on the dirty floor, foaming, the golden liquid seeping into cracks as your parched mouth...

never mind, my mind is wandering again.

Remember when cars were so big 3 guys could sit in the trunk, legs dangling like spaghetti, quaffing beers in the sun? Now you can't put your groceries in there, you need to use the back seat. The mafia have to borrow the van from the butcher shop...lack of trunk space.

I can relate to 'accidents'. I drop everything, even the $100 New Years prime rib roast, which hit the floor like the hundred other things. I now have slippers with hard bottoms so I can flee the dang kitchen. But pickle juice, man that has so much sugar in it you might as well drop corn syrup on the floor.

The best thing to drop is the odd tied note. Gives breathing room.

John Conley
Musica est vita