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.