As the brownly glitterfilled trumpet subsides, the areas of starburst fumes corrupt the soundbites. Frugal, skanking men in jackets stub out their cigarettes on the walls, as their frilly counterparts dive forward with their arms swinging, legs spotjogging. noiselessly pacing. And the dusty air smokes out the beerfilled particles from everyones pores, whilst another rowdy stoner gropes a lost teens lower-shoulderblade blindly. Progressively, the music fills the room with an edge of tranquil excitement, Thrills, Spills, Everything locked in the box called Trombone. Another Being spits in the crowd, as close proximity ends in a sweaty climax, the raving, moshed out ones droop. As flowers, scented of sour bile and budweiser, the gig goers open their surplus purses for taxis and accumulative gaggles stumble across the town, falling alongside bushes, laughing at a funny looking lampost that keeps humming, and then I fall into bed with aching feet and a deadened eye, my head buzzing my liver crying my mind racing ......and i'm asleep.
HEy wow woww .. YOu rock my freefalling fairy. you haev so perfectly got LIke.. everything about skagig extraordinaire.. and THe JSB! wahoo.. hmm sweatsoaked exhausted .. supersuper. ‘’ You don’t Look This Heavy Jess’’ - Loz 6/1/05 x x
