I swear, I heard my father say to pop the trunk, and I obliged. I should have noticed when our friend Bill the trumpet player got in that he was carrying his instrument. They should have noticed the sound of the trunk unlatching, but Deaf and Deafer heard nothing. I thought the girl waving at me on the expressway and pointing was telling me not to cut into the lane where her husband/boyfriend was driving. I gave a polite wave and shook my head at the nerve of some people. I saw them. I only had my directional on. I wasn't changing lanes until they passed. But it wasn't until I was well into Queens and nearly at the site of our gig that I noticed the words “TRUNK AJAR” glowing just above the radio. I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed some slight movement. It definitely wasn't latched. It was a miracle it never popped open all the way and that we didn't lose anything. My dad wanted to jump out at the next red light as soon as he learned of my stupidity, but I convinced him not to risk getting run over until we reached a side street to pull over. We had made it that far, and lost nothing. The gig itself, a birthday party outside a small Italian restaurant, went a lot smoother, until they asked us to stay an extra half hour for an extra $5, which was a little insulting. We were all tired and had other places to be on a Sunday evening, but the restaurant owner chipped in a little more for the overtime and, hopefully, everybody was happy. I'm exhausted after my adventures, but as always I can muster up enough energy to share some PHANTASMIC LINKS:
Click Myclofigia once a day to get our city to #1!
MCF is a mild-mannered
artist from the suburbs.
His knowledge of obscure
comic book characters
is more powerful than Gladiator
of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard on
an ego-trip. Able to leap topics
in a single sentence faster than
a speeder-bike on the moon of
Endor, MCF has never written
about himself in the third person
and now dreads the day he
utters aloud the fateful phrase,
"MCF is gettin' upset!"