One of the interesting things about playing in a band is the people (and behavior) you see on the dance floor. Mix one part pounding beat with four parts alcohol and inhibitions waltz right out the door. What’s left resembles the mating ritual of flightless birds as they attempt to entice a mate prior to breeding season.
Once the birds were paired up, we slowed the tempo and played what we referred to as “belly-rubbin’ music.” These slow, romantic dances generated a great deal of body contact between the participants including groping and bumping of beaks. After which, many of the pairs would immediately leave the club in search of nesting grounds.
Occasionally, a couple of the males would get their feathers ruffled while in competition over a female with particularly attractive plumage. Sometimes a third male would swoop in and steal the prize while these two idiots battled for testosterone supremacy.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the conductor of this Orchestra of Keyboard Clickers is Maestro WillamenaWisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
Eureka Springs, AR – Police and emergency personnel responded to a 911 call last night at the Rowdy Beaver on Hwy 62. One of the patrons collapsed on the dance floor and appeared to stop breathing.
“It was scary,” said bartender, Anita Drink. “The band was going into the chorus of Mustang Sally when this guy went down like he’d been shot with a gun.”
Evidence collected at the scene indicates the guitar player may have been responsible for the incident.
“It was an accident,” swears guitarist, Fret Boardman. “I hit C-major and Bam!—down he went—struck by a chord.”
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