original burgers
It is raining slowly today, but determined. I luckily still had the umbrella in my back seat that I pinched from my roomamte a few weeks ago.Quite a bastard I am, it's true.
My fingers are raw from playing bass with a band I joined. I joined this one to meet musicians in town and generate contacts for work with the other band which I started, which probably needs a drummer. I may move to guitar, because it looks like my lyrics are going to be used.
I love gigs. Can't wait to play one, but there's always trepidation about playing your original music.
As we were leaving the rehearsal space the other night, the guy who runs it came out of the office with a girl. He introduced her to me.
"I'm a bass player!" she gushed.
"Ok," I said. What else do you say?
She was sort of pulling on my hand as she shook it with both of hers.
"So you're dummer boy, huh?" she asked.
"Yeah"
"Cool" She ran off.
The owner guy started up a gas grill on the loading dock area of the warehouse/rehearsal hall, and offered to cook me a burger. I accepted. When they were done cooking he stood next to a counter eating his. No buns. No ketchup. Just mayo. I ate mine bare.
"So what does it take to get a gig in this town," I asked him. "I assume it's all cover bands and crap"
"No, actually most places here want to hear original music"
I smiled as I ate my hockey-puck mayo burger.
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