Cash Only

Out with the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars - and the usual old crones of course.
Yeah, for there amongst the usual noodlers, the wannabes, the neverwillbes, was Bram E. Gieben. A performance! I was quite mesmerised. As near to proper as you could get.
So after that, there was much unwinding in the Blue Blazer where we indulged old Kettley and listened to his best tales from the music business. I say indulged him; there wasn't much alternative. And he was plied with beers; at least it kept us off the story of MrW's alternator in Romania.
How late it was, how late.