Dealing With Kevin A. Still Dealing With John Cash

Grunge bands were big when I was in highschool and I was in a honky-tonk group. Somehow we went from Kurt Cobain to Grahm Parsons in a single semester. For me, that is proof enough that God exists. We practiced in Mike's basement. We played at Mike's because his mom gambled so much she was at the casino more than she was home. We played there for years, murdering Who songs until we discovered brilliance in the likes of The Flying Burrito Brothers and the grievous angel himself.

Then we found it.

Mike's basement had three concrete walls and one made up entirely of a pool table, beer bottles and old porn magazines. Or so we thought. I'm not sure what force it was that tore the veil down that day. Perhaps it was one dirty magazine too many pulled out of the foundation. Whatever the case, the wall fell one day. And right before our eyes, was the promised land. Canaan itself. Our heritage.

A fully functioning bar with it's very own tap, fridge and three stools tucked so neatly you'd have thought the barkeep was there just the night before.

We stared and we stared. And the whole time, he stared right back at us from behind the bar:
I wager a more welcoming bird has never known flight. We spent the next month cleaning and restoring our new personal tavern. And the whole time he watched us approvingly. We fixed the plumbing. We learned how to install a CO2 tap. We hung stolen neon budwiser signs. We stole every ashtray we could get our honky-tonk wanna be hands on and the whole time...he watched. Not one single time did the notion arise to move him. Not once. How could we? It was his place and on top of that was the suspicion that even a mere picture of John Cash might just have been able to whoop our collective asses.

That was more than ten years ago.

I have unforgiveness in my heart towards you Kevin. That was damn insensitive of you that morning.

"Wake Up!!! Imus said Cash is dead!!"

But I guess, for me anyway, he left the same way he entered.

I hate hate hate that it got cool to be a Cash fan. I will be the first to admit, I found him by luck. Drunk chance.

But my god if he didn't sober (me) up.

Some say it was Elvis. These people are wrong.

Now lets smoke some prison smokes.