Just always pissed when waking up in a nutty candy factory. I’m in a barren room, a tropical dungeon, a technofunkified bat cave, evil over time. Music penetrates the wall, penetrates my soul. In the winter, I hibernate like a mutant koala and I daydream about AC/DC live within this electrified space of antique and digital clocks. Sometimes, I’m summoned in very odd ways.
Power struggle? Not really. I had done my time. One too many concerts. AC/DC’s concert ended, but it was just the beginning. “Have a drink on me.” The Brewington Beer, almost like a river. The concert vendors handed out beers to everybody as they walked out. We all huddled into the first nightclub in Brewington, the old storage warehouse on the south side of town. Club 108.9, next to Club 11 (later known as Weber Warehouse). The after-party with Tony T spinning wheels of steel for the underground nightclub. The power didn’t go out. Static. A hanging disco ball, muted movies on big screens, electricity. I was like a fly on the wall. A sweet beast at the Club 108.9 farewell party. There wasn’t enough drama. #SoulCash
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