Basking in the glory of the infamous nightmare, I push my resolve to its limits and play the harmonica just one more time. For the crowd, I play it once more. All 4 of them. They stayed when the show was over due to their level of intoxication and inability to trudge across the hardwood dance floor. Crawling was not an option. Nor was rolling along like a drunk penguin. It was 1:30 and nearly last call. My eyes heavy from exhaustion and sweat pouring from my brow like Ted Striker in the movie Airplane. Why hadn't the sun gone down and the heat dissipated? Then I remembered, I'm in Canada... you know, the northern part where the lights shine and everyone knows your name.

There's nothing to this story. No point, no climax, hell there's not really even a story here. Just the fountain of cerebral vomit which manipulates my fingertips to excrete such childish and bile thoughts. Just a method to clear my mind from the havoc it has engulfed itself in.