The Puppet

There’s a band playin on stage. Not bad. And they got their schtick. Zombies. Face paint, ragged clothes, fake blood. The works. I really respect a band that dresses up.  Takes shit seriously. Somethin to look at, besides some guy wearin a t-shirt and jeans.

What was cool about this band, they had a guy on stage, dancin. No singing, no instrument, just dancin. And he was gettin into it. Mouthing the words, air-drumming, he really looked like he was havin fun, but was taking his role seriously, as head zombie. He comes up to the bar, after the show, in full make-up, and says, can I get a glass of water?  I say, hey, man. Loved the dancing.  Really good. Then he says,

The music controls the puppet. And I’m the puppet.


From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


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