The marquis was lit and showed that a live band was playing tonight, so we pulled into the lot and parked.
“Ever heard of these guys?”
“Nope. But the lot looks pretty full. Maybe that’s a good sign.”
Cover bands. Hit or miss.
We ordered some pints and found a standing spot near the stage. We talked for awhile, about life and music and tried to guess what the band would play. In order to survive, cover bands have to play crowd pleasers. I put my money on Mustang Sally because they always play that song. I hate Mustang Sally.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I was in more than one cover band that played it. We played it a million times and now it’s forever ruined for me. I never did like it though.”
“There are worse songs.”
“I can’t think of any but I’ll know it when I hear it.”
The band came on and started to prove their worth. They were sort of like a white James Brown meets the Stones, and they were pulling it off. We listened to the band for awhile and then moved to a booth away from the speakers so we could actually hear each other. It was a small bar, so it didn’t help much. The band kept ramping up and filled the air with heart pounding bass-lines.
We talked. Well, she mostly talked while I nodded. My ear kept getting drawn to the beat. I looked at her and focused while making futile attempts at reading her lips. Instead I found that I was mainly just staring at the ring through her pierced septum. It flickered with the changing colors of the stage lights.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Sure I am.”
“Then what did I just say?”
“Something about getting a new car and…”
“I was talking Italian!”
“Yeah, ‘Oops’ is right. I wanted to see if you were listening.”
“I can’t help it. The band is good but they’re very loud.”
“What about your car?”
“I said, THEY ARE!”
“Cool. Me too.”
We ordered another round and listened to the band and continued to misunderstand what the other was saying. Sweet musical oblivion. It’s better that a loud band be good, than to have a very loud band that sucks.
When we’d finally had enough we made our way to the door. We walked to the car in the frigid night, our breath forming misty clouds in the cold air. I looked over and saw that an icicle was starting to form on her septum ring. A snotcicle, if you will.
“Does that happen often when it gets cold?”
“Does what happen?”
“Forget it. Kleenex?”