Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 69
Neil sat up, dazed. “Where am I? Is this a soundcheck?”
“You’re in a retirement home, Neil!” shouted Cactus Jack. “And you just dropped the hottest solo of 2025!”
Neil tried to continue; but the lyrics had left the building.
“Is it ‘Out of the black and into ...... the snack’?”
“No!” the crowd wailed.
“Out of the blue and into the back; no, black!” Jack yelled, flinging his walker like a mic stand.
Mildred grabbed a tambourine. Doris banged her oxygen tank. Gerald, now fully awake, began freestyle rapping about pudding.
Neil stared into the improvisational audience, smiled slowly, and muttered, “This ........ this is punk rock.”
And with that, Wrinkle Rock was born.
The chaos at Golden Echoes Senior Living Center had reached a glorious crescendo. Mildred was still wearing Neil’s hat like it granted her loud and eternal decreptitude, Cactus Jack was rhythmically slapping a tray of lime Jell-O, and Gerald had declared himself the retirement home’s Kendrick Lamar. Neil stood in the eye of this storm, strumming like a prophet in orthopedic shoes.