Woke up last night to Sonja calling my name.
"Beer!"
House was shaking.
"Fucking earthquakes," I assured her.
"Aren't you going to do something?" she asked.
I got up, went to the bathroom, checked on the dog, came back to bed.
"Well?" Sonja asked.
"We'll be ok. It was just the sound of Lemmy plugging his bass in for the first time in Hell."
2 comments:
Hi Beer... never sure exactly where you are going - but pretty much always turns out to be a good one.
Cheers
My literary gps has been malfunctioning ever since I got in the head with a puck for the first time.
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