The club was rocking, it really wasn’t a music club so the ‘stage’ was the corner of room. Girls and guys were dancing, as the night wore on they drank more and more. Drinks were being spilled and I knew at any moment I was going to take a microphone in the teeth. But it was like there was a force field in front of us, not one of the inebriated herd had breached our perimeter.
But, there was one guy next to the speaker just beside me. The most calm guy in the house, pressed jeans, a nice sweater and a glass of merlot. The chaos in the room hadn’t effected him, until his foot grazed a puddle of spilled drink and he began to fall. Instinctively his arm reached out to catch himself and my JBL main speaker tumbled off the stand and struck the top of my ’83 Les Paul Standard. It now has two beautiful dimples in the tobacco sunburst, battle scars that must have been put there by providence for a reason. Maybe someday, something will come of it.
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