99 - The buskers.
joneworlds@mailbox.org
I rode along with Pete and Del into town the other
day. Pete got a tip on some cheap covid vaccine,
recently-expired stuff that someone scooped from
the trash at an Amazon clinic. Worth checking out
for sure. Pete's contact is kind of cagey so Del
and I wander off while he meets them. Don't want
to spook 'em.
Anyways, I wander over to the main drag to get a
taco from the truck there. And I figure I'll see
some music because there's a pretty decent busker
scene there, these days. Today there's this trio
I never saw before. It's a tall white haired old
lady, an extremely short southeast-asian man, and
this fairly young centaur. They're all three
dressed in these bright orange jumpsuits like they
just escaped from prison or something. The man
and the woman are singing some wordless la-la-la
melody in perfect harmony, and the man is
strumming and plucking on some ancient guitar.
And the centaur meanwhile is occasionally
bellowing something over top of this. And I'm
thinking at first he is just being an ass, but
he's hitting his mark right on time every time,
and I realize this is exactly as they intended.
It's the most bizarre act I've ever seen, and I
watch so long and am so rapt that I drop by taco
and I don't even care. Some dog eventually comes
by and eats it, and that's okay.
And when they're done their songs, they pack up
and jump in this old army jeep without a word,
driving off even though I want to talk. Sometimes
I wonder how a band like that finds each other. I
wonder if I'll ever see them again.