"Our Gals Are The Best Gals"
by jpg
The reports from Birmingham kept arriving. Glowing and descriptive, the styles distinctive, the words sparse, as requested. Only the words that mattered: Blue Monkey at Nine, Bucket, Veljovic, J Clyde, The Magic City, A 1000 dying suns, Delaney on the mind. Incidents and no accidents, glaring and demanding victory. Americans, the Swiss killers. Alabama Shirly was right. Everything was fine. Documented and recorded, accessible digitally forever. Memories are obsolete. Making experiences is the modern day making memories. Do it. Go. This is our time. Houston loomed, a Super time for GaGa to fly, followed by red, white, and blue drones. A pledge to the flag and a dive. Piano song showed them all. Women do rule. Red clay ahead, River Oaks and the fashion shows. Feliciano Lopez groupies and discussions with Brad Gilbert. He was right about Fed. We were wrong about Sock. Only CB can save his career, but he would never sign the contract. If Sock only knew. He is trapped by the suits. The guitar players must go to the north where Hobos are needed. To play the festivals and protests of the city. The power of the woman is the truest truth of this world. Like Serena and Venus, the sisterhood is unbreakable. Collect at the North End of Erwin Park. Our gals are the best gals. CB, T-Top, peoplesDuke. The women of our lives. We have come to understand, our natures know, and our natures provide. The Pats, for sure. For obvious reasons, over time, whatever it takes.