The Busking Diaries (working title). Part ii.

The Bodyguard

More often than not these moments come when you’re in very serious danger of the formality of it all turning you square. Of "normality" (read 'unsanity') gripping you by the breeches and hoisting you into a 9-5, wife and kids, happy-meal box with a look that says "Now just where did you think you were going, sonny-jim, eh?".

But God-Willing, just before you're living for 75 and drooling already, there will appear a purveyor of grander issues than you or I. He would call it the “Bigger-Issue”.

A well-known mover and shaker on the mean streets, whom I know only as Gary, seemed impressed by my apparent lack of entrepreneurial interest when it came to busking. He deemed it imperative that my next gig would be to play at his spot by the canal. Gary would of course provide security and deal with any legal issues that were likely to arise.
Sure enough, issues (though not entirely legal) did arise. His once slumbering and now hung-over friend appeared from behind the bush and seemed somewhat aggrieved. But following a cracked can, a promised toot on the (now much-missed) hobbit pipe and some blues, I appeared to have given him a cheery outlook on the day. But despite this proof that a cheery disposition in a Grey town was within reach, it dawned on me that roles could easily reverse, leaving the possibility of waking beneath a Bush
a distinctly clear and present danger.

                                  an eCONomy fractuRED

                         CULTurally knackeRED



                        THE GREAT MIGRATION

                         and a pilgrimage for 
                       Beauty.

TBC...

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image from http://www.edouardsalier.fr/blog/?p=1675