A night at the coffeehouse, or watch out for that church lady

OK, so I’ve had some bizzaro things happen to me while on the road. There was that town that we couldn’t get out of, no matter which route we took. We’d never have made it out if we hadn’t found a local guide. I stopped to use a Texaco bathroom, and we got a lift out of town from a dude named Rosco. Far out graffiti in that bathroom, by the way. One was of a couple doing it dressed in gaucho attire while mounted on camels. I wondered what the hell the artist had been on. It must have been some potent stuff.

We pulled into the town where I had the gig just about in time for me to tune up in the back room. It was going to be a good night. The crowd was almost asleep listening to a former missionary sing Chinese work songs. I figured that I’d lead in with some of my dirtier songs to wake them up and get the blood flowing. Yeah, it was a church coffeehouse, but a little sex would liven up their dull lives.

Well, that didn’t go as planned. That teacup the church lady aimed at my head did get my blood flowing. It may leave a scar when the wound heals up, and we had to get out of there before I was able to grab the green stuff from the basket. When we got back to Boston, we had to borrow money for food. But at least the story was worth a few beers at the Harvard Gardens the next night. People howled when I told them about the Chinese work songs and the erotic graffiti in the gas station. But one of the nurses from the hospital said that I really should go down to the emergency room to have the head wound looked at. That church lady could have pitched for the Red Sox.

Do I trust my instincts? well sometimes that doesn’t work out that well.