Author: Quinn
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La Grange
Never knew what I wanted to do with my life. That’s why I’m here with, well, with her.
When I first heard “La Grange”, I didn’t believe it was ZZ Top. I know them as “Legs” and “Sharp Dressed Man” and that kinda jerk-it video shit from the 80’s. But, it was. It was them. They’re good. Maybe they stole that riff from Muddy Waters or somesuch Blues master. I dunno– but it’s good, and I wanted to play it.
For weeks, I tried. I unhooked my Amazon-bought Epitone from the wall and– well, usually I’d spend a half hour looking for the cable to connect it to this cheap amp some acquaintance had given me. All I’ve ever found was the USB cable for Rocksmith. Total shit for learning guitar. Shame.
But, “La Grange”. I wanted to play that. First I wanted to play “Wish You Were Here”, but if I could just do that riff from “La Grange”, I might be satisified forever.
Satisfied forever. Yeah, she’s still here.
I remember sixth grade, talking on a physical land-line phone to someone I’d left behind when my ma moved across town. We were both pledging we’d never want anything more than an Atari 2600.
Funny.
Pac-Man. Now, you go to the PC for the max graphics. The most real– that virtual breath on your face when you play–
Breath.
Breathe.
“It’s all right. It’s good. You’re going soon.”
I’m clicking this fucking PS4 controller trying to find “La Grange” because there is no Amazon Music app, and that’s where I “bought” it. Torrent sites don’t have it. Maybe others do, but I’m too lazy to spread my network of pirate booty-shoals.
I’m done. It’s an update. I haven’t had much to say latel– Hold on.
*skrick*
There we go. All done.
“Night, Hammy.”
She was getting old.
Can’t stomach a dead life what keeps on dyin’.
Let it go. Better off dead, eh?
o/~ But I might be mis- taken. o/~
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BBC
Getting chilly for t-shirts, but the cold never bothered me, anyway. Fun encounter with the fairer sex this morning. Went outside my apartment to the Farmer’s Market that usually serves only to deprive me of parking on Friday night. Browsed a little, then to the java stand. The pretty twenty-something compliments my “Frozen” shirt with a giggle and asks what I’d like.
“Well … I’ve been craving a BBC. A big–”
[beat, anxiety on her face]
“black …”
[beat, eyes widen]
“… coffee.”
She laughs. Funny she knew the acronym– maybe she’s on Craigslist.
Anyway, she pours, I explain I’ve been wanting to use it for a while. “Well, not use a BBC, but the joke.” “You’re BAAAAD.”
She mentions the shirt again, I say, “Yeah, I watch it a lot with the girls. I mean, I don’t watch BBC with them– er, well, I do” “You’re BAD this morning!” “I mean the British Broadcasting Corp.”
She finishes pouring, but my cup runneth over. I helpfully interject, “BBC ain’t fitting in there, is it?”
She laughs again.
We smile, we part and I walk home in the cold September rain.