I was at this party but nothing was happening at all a lot of chicks were leaning over a pale neon wurlitzer jukebox, the way dead voice boxes rolled up it came on like a coffin, it was the kind of party to leave behind. 8 millimeter footage of Jimi Hendrix jacking his strat. girls sobbing and measuring the spaces between his fingers. I went out in the hallway and stood there drinking a glass of tea. "riders on the storm" was rolling from a local transistor, the boy slipped on some soap and the radio fell in the bathtub. I gulped my tea too fast and some of it went up my nose it made me choke and stammer and my lungs started pumping like erratic water wings ...

I woke up and the room was gone the radio was playing "riders on the storm" and the dj cut in and said that Jim Morrison was dead. I reached over for my air rifle and took shaky aim. ducks with musical notes etched in their little wax skulls were revolving on the ceiling. Camus said that it's death which gives gambling and heroism their true meaning, but me I prefer another french saying - better a live scoundrel than a dead miracle. I kicked the shit outa the radio and went looking for a heavy handed game of chance, local bingo - fascination - or when the chips are down handle some poker. . .