In The Record ShopMature


  "You've found us a drummer?! We've been looking for one for months! Where have you looked that I haven't?!" My friends and I had a small band that formed a few years ago. We were nothing special, mostly covering Pink Floyd or Eric Clapton in small bars and local competitions. Our drummer went to a college in California, studying to be an engineer. He was always talking about getting out of this cold, wet, miserable town and we were happy for him; he was finally living his dream. But that left us short one hell of a drummer.

  "I saw him yesterday evening over at  Lucky's! Jack's band was plain' right? And right after they were done, this guy walks right over to Jack and says-" John began laughing hysterically, practically crying. "He says- 'your drummer plays like shit! I can do better!' Of course Jack told him to piss off, but I walked right over to him and asked him how good he was. He said he was the best drummer in his whole school and won at his state's Battle of the Bands. I told him to go by Ozzy's house at six to play Neil's old kit to see how good the kid really is." He had a pleased expression on his face. He was expecting me to bow down to him and thank him for his work. Instead I just clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Finally you did something useful!" I grinned, finally something good was happening. "Lets go tell Ozzy the good news!" I dragged Keith to the counter to pay for our albums, and we were out the door. "I suppose he'll be at Lucky's then?"

  "Where else would the hermit be? The guy's got no life outside the garage and that place! And I already checked the garage."

The End

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