It’s A Wonderful Strife

 
2:10 pm  CDT

Fromage

Stop! I want to get off. At times like this, the whole deal hardly seems worth it. To travel all these miles and put up with all the niggling politics, just for an hour or two, three times a week, to actually play music……
I could stay at home and be a Walmart greeter.  
Rick and Barry share the driving. Rick, as I’ve pointed out before, likes to let it rip. Coincidentally, we sped past Indianapolis about an hour ago. Parnelli Haynes was indeed inspired.
Both of them like to haul ass. 
We need a sign for the back of the truck that says, “As a matter of fact, we do.”
It’s subtle and somewhat cryptic. It’s in response to:
“Hey assholes, you act like you own the road!”
Combined with an Ontario license plate, we may be up for some angry debate if one of those obese good-ole-boys taps on our window at a stoplight. 
“You don’t own nothin’ down here in America” 
Here is my fantasy:
I roll down the window and say,
“I paid more money to the IRS last year than you probably have in your whole life, you fat fuck.” 

4:05 pm

We currently have a very respectable ETA of 5:15 pm. 

6:00 pm

We are in Cedarburg, Wisconsin. I have successfully checked into a room large enough to accommodate three families, a Boy Scout troop, and a Tupperware party. 
It’s so big, part of it is in Illinois. To get from the bed to the bathroom, there’s a tram. I hear a voice; there might be someone in here who can’t find their way out.
“Hello?” is all I can think of to say. There’s no response. 
A figure appears bathed in moon-like phosphorescence. 
It throws its arms up and makes an unearthly sound.
“Ooo, ooo ooo eee,” it cries as it rattles the chains on its arms and legs while doing a 360-degree pirouette, tripping and landing on its ass.  
“Do that again!” I request as I’m rummaging around in my backpack for my phone. 
“Ooo, ooo, ooo, eee, be afraid!”
“Well, ordinarily I would be, but the stumble sort of blew your moment.”
“I am the Grim Reaper!”
“No, you’re not. Where’s the scythe and the face-shading hood?”
“I am your past and your future….be afraid!” and it rattled again loudly.
“A suggestion?”
“What?”
“Lose the chains. It’s been done before.”
“Yeah? Maybe just a few silver bracelets and a nose ring. What do you think?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I’ve come to show you what The Lightfoot Band would be like without you.”
Suddenly, I’m seated in a theatre watching my band, and there’s a keyboard player who’s not me being introduced to the audience. He stands up, tells a brief story, then sits back down.
The band begins playing again, and if I strain, I can hear a few keyboards tinkling in the background.
“What’s the difference?” I ask my jangly spirit guide, but he’s gone.