The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

The Bureau of Dreams to be Continued

Page 52

Frank’s Bar and Grill

I heard about it while I was sitting in Max’s back room; feeling so outrageous I must have appeared outré. I had no way of knowing as there weren’t any other people there that day and the bartender wasn’t going to say anything which might screw up her tip. I was sure that I was either starting a trend or ending another. I was thinking about going somewhere else myself. Max must have had powerful butt magnets installed under the seat of my chair, as every time I started to get up something pulled me back down. Spiritualists would probably have called it karma, kismet or constipation; but I think it was the magnet. Hey, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan and Patti Smith might have once had their butts right where mine now was. About ten years ago. You see, the hippy era had been dead for that much time and even the roadies hadn’t been around Max’s for five. The people on the A List were more and more flocking to the discos. I was half out of my seat when I thought; “Holy shit. Sam Shepard.”

Carrying a soft covered pulp book titled “True Tales of the Old West,” he waddled in, sat on the stool next to mine, and said; “Hey man, how ya been?”

I thought; “Sam Shepard. Sam Shepard. The Sam Shepard from ‘Buried Child,’ ‘True West,’ Pulitzer and ‘Zabriskie Point’