Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 56
Paramedics were halfway to the stage before Bruce popped up like a cranky jack in the box and shouted, “I’m fine! No problem. I’ve fallen on every stage in America!”, which, historically, is just a bit of an overstatement. For all intents and purposes the geriatric main stream media fact checkers subsequently found it “substantially accurate,” ostensibly “allowing” a poetic hyperbole, okay for friends of MSNBC.
From there, the night rolled on with updated reprises of fifty year old hits like “Dancing in the Dark After 6 PM Bedtime” and “Thunder Road Rash.” The codgers swayed. The codgers groaned. It was pretty sure that someone broke a hip during the encore of “Born to Run to the Bathroom.”
Best. Night. Ever.
The audience had varying thoughts and motivations about being there, after they saw that the show wouldn’t be over until well past their normal bedtimes. However, this Boomer Generation had an old card up their sleeves, not to mention the ones clandestinely held elsewhere; drugs, uppers, speed; all available from your nearest darkie attendant.
The bingo hall had shuttered last winter, its folding chairs stacked like tombstones. But tonight, the town’s elders had