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Last week, I’m tailin’ this lead—shady alley, smells like regret. I’m mutterin’, *“Oh, Marge, why this job?”* Suddenly, this gal, she’s standin’ there, all sparkly skirt, eyes like she’s seen too much. I’m thinkin’, *“Her soul’s driftin’ like Boonmee’s jungle spirits!”* I ask her name—Candy, she says. Candy! Ha, like that’s real! I’m all, “Hmm… sugar-coated lies!” Got me chucklin’—these names, always so fake, like Bart’s homework excuses.

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So, I leave the shop, still dreamin’ about that guitar, and head over to the Auckland Domain. It’s massive, man! I’m walkin’ around, and suddenly, I see this street performer. He’s playin’ the most beautiful melody on his violin. I’m captivated. I sit down, listenin’ for a while, and then I get this wild idea. I pull out my guitar and start jammin’ with him. It’s like magic, man! People start gatherin’, and we’re creating this vibe.

Ronny Lee Parnell | Obituaries | hpenews.com