Wednesday, 20 April 2016

(Well, I ain't no devil and I ain't no saint.)

Deliver your children to the good good life
Give'em peace and shelter and a fork and knife
Shine a light in the morning and a light at night
And if a thing goes wrong you'd better make it right
Paul McCartney is never ever ever in a million years going to play my favorite song of his: Deliver Your Children, off London Town, that came out when I was seven years old, later cemented as a clear favorite from Lochlan's late busking days (Jesus, if you've heard him and you paid afterward, well, thank you for that, we ate well those nights). It's okay, I already saw the setlist so I know for sure but there's a lot of Wings songs in there nonetheless and basically this is one of those shows I'm going to where I don't care if he stands up there reading the label on the inside of his guitar, I'll be crying and going full fangirl for all to laugh at. Go for it. I really don't care. 

And GUESS who's coming with us?

That's right, Caleb. Because curse this shit of making plans as a group when things are great only to find months later things have fractured all to fuck and so he flew home this morning and met me at the front door at five a.m. looking rested and refreshed while I looked like a tiny tornado of bed-head and tea-stained pajamas, a frown six miles deep on my face, eyes only half-opened, mouth forming every swear word I know to greet him. He's interrupting my olympic-skill-level reunion sex fest with my boys. He's at my house where I wish he wasn't.

Hello Motherfucker.

Good morning to you too, Beautiful. I see things remain the same here. It's too bad your pyromaniac didn't have the guts to make the moves I would have while Ben and I were both away. Guess he can be the King of Cowards, Prince of Missed Opportunities, the Gutless Wonder-

I reached out and slammed the door on him.

I'll see you tonight then for the show, he called through the three-inch-thick wood.