Where does one begin?
It helps to know a little about me. I am twenty-nine, six foot two, blue-eyed, with long dirty blond hair, and two hundred and ten pounds. I was working at a camera store and shooting concerts part-time, I wish they paid better, but that's why I am at a camera store, trying to make ends meet paying off my house.
I packed my camera bag and headed to the venue without thinking twice. Get there early enough, it's before the band set, and I get the band's info to hang with them and enjoy learning about them. I carry a small classy leather album with the 4Γ6 prints; the bands give me their contact info. I send the band prints; only one band has returned the money. So then, I saw what would be a non-shaving hippie Groupie Chick ten years ago. She looked six foot, with blond hair, blue-eyed, 38-30-36 DD, a nice look and strung out or super high wearing a tube top, bell bottom jeans, and tire sandals, a true vision of 1970, but it is 1980.
She asked me. "Were are the Dead and Pigpen!"
I say. "Dallas Hun where in Houston."
Your young face looked lost as you say. "What day is this? Then my friends were to meet at the drummer's hotel room and split our money; he's gone, and so are my friends and my money."
I say. "Friday, dear, and she sat in a chair and started asking. "Where are these people? Why is everything so wrong? she says, My name is Angel."
I answered you. "Yes, you are. My name is Dan. Let's go get you some help."
I take her to the aid station and drop her off. She is cute, but something is wrong. I needed to get to work and earn my pay of three hundred bucks for a few hours of work; not too bad, but I didn't keep my film. I dropped off film photographed my two songs, and billed my work, getting a drink filling out the form adding notes of whose in the shots. I start to head out. If I rush, I can make another club and some extra cash. Since I came in the back, that's where my minivan is. I go out that way.
I hear a woman say. "Get the fuck off me, you fucking perv."
I hear a grunt and stick my head in the aid station. Some dude in a red cross vest has one of her breast in his hand, and she's hitting him to let go. Hello, five fingers of mine in his nuts, and I chop him one in his throat. He goes down, and a nurse comes in and sees the guy's hand on her tit. When he bounces on the ground by my hand, the nurse is back with a cop being pulled behind her.
The nurse thinks we should ask the lady what happened. The guy goes to jail.
Angel looks tired and says. "Your Dan from earlier, aren't you? Would you please take me home? I am so tired."
I say. "I have no clue where you live, but you look like you need to eat, hon do you get low blood sugar, and are you taking anything for it?"
She says. "Insulin, but she has no clue where her kit is."
I say. "My best friend is a Doctor." Making a call from a payphone.
We swing by his house/office, and he points to his wife, and we two go off to catch up. Angel is fine; she is type one, but he has everything she needs to test and dose. As we talk, my buddy Ray's wife heats some Mexican leftovers for us, and the dude is home cooking. We ate and joked about all the trouble we got into when we were younger.
Ray's wife Says. "You guys are still on double secret probation about pissing on the club's owner Excalibur Car at that strip club. I never saw the magic in going."
I say. "But the owner said you were a stank!"
She fires off a few words I only knew half of and says. "We should have burnt that shit to the ground."
I asked Angel. "Where did you stay last night?"