SITTING ON A BUS WITH THE ENGLISH BEAT AND LIKING IT
It was a cold Sunday evening in midOctober and the sun was working its way down as I pulled the LeMans into the parking lot of Detroit’s Bookie’s Club 870. The heater in the LeMans stopped working some indeterminate time ago, but it was too much summer for me to notice.
SITTING ON A BUS WITH THE ENGLISH BEAT AND LIKING IT
by
J. Kordosh
It was a cold Sunday evening in midOctober and the sun was working its way down as I pulled the LeMans into the parking lot of Detroit’s Bookie’s Club 870. The heater in the LeMans stopped working some indeterminate time ago, but it was too much summer for me to notice. I made up for a lot of lost noticing pretty fast.
Just to get myself to where I could see something besides my breath—and, not at all incidentally—to meet the Beat, I made a dash for Bookie’s front door. It was sound check time, and I was on time. Things were swell.