I bought our Iron Maiden tickets this morning while sitting on the cold white marble floor of the hallway of house number four, having chose correctly for the myriad of presale passwords I had for some really good seats. We don't get comp tickets much any more these days. Ben has chosen to leave most of those circles in which handshakes beget events and then I somehow wind up doing music videos for bands whose names I can't even pronounce without a shitload of priming beforehand.
Truth be told I know two Maiden songs. Run for the Hills and...and Ace of...well it's not Spades because that's Motorhead.
Aces High?
Ah yes. I have six months to sort them out.
Oh WAIT. I know Number of the Beast. Hallowed be thy Name. Fear of the Dark. Okay, I'm good. I pull a fist down in victory from my sprawl on the floor and Caleb comes back in, shooting a cuff, checking the Breitling, probably to make sure I haven't stolen it off his wrist moreso than for the time and he looks kind of pissed off.
How on earth is Pyro going to know if we leave the point. I have things to do and I'm not going to remain stuck here because he 'said so'.
Well, I have to so if you have work with me than we do it here. I have an imaginary perimeter. Like a dog. An invisible fence. I laugh and he does..not.
Did you have one of these on the Midway?
Of course. I was a little kid.
You were a teenager.
Twelve doesn't have the word teen in it, does it? I ask him innocently. I am rewarded with that look that indicates he can't even believe I have spoken back to him.
Get your things. We need to have some breakfast and then I have some things to do. He can order you around but he can't order me. I'm not the bad guy today.
Depends. Are you coming to Maiden with us?
Hell, yes. Now I get the smile. No surprise there.
