It was a location scout on another ice rink.
This is the one we will use.
The grips gave me playful shit when I accidentally took the wrong exit.
My identity would become that gaffe.
It seems this shoot is going to be a flaming bag of shit on a bullet train.
The ride back home was a cacophonous cat's cradle of cellphone stabs - who can get what to where by when now.
It's busier than it's ever been in this city.
That's why I'm on this gig.
No experience, jumping in.
I'm beginning to see how it all comes together.
I got out of Fletcher around 8pm and took a sweaty one-hour nap in the back of the van in front of my moonlighting job.
Here's what I wrote while manning the door of the bar:
The black cowboy brought four matching sandy blonde leather travel cases with him to the bar. He told some women that had he nowhere to stay for the night. One woman, a regular, observed.
"You have nowhere to stay tonight, so you came to a neighborhood bar?"
The jukebox is keeping me awake.
The clientele seems to like their 80s music.
"Eye of the Tiger", English Beat, Stevie Nicks, Talking Heads, Jacko.
Atleast it's "Rock Lobster" this time - wait - that's late 70s.
I put in a weird batch.
Curtis Mayfield "Superfly" - Statler Brothers "Flowers On the Wall" - Misfits "Night of The Living Dead".
Let's see what happens.
My last mix was for me: Little Richard "Lucille" - Kinks "Tired of Waiting" - Stones "Doo Doo Heartbreaker".
This mix is for no one.
They seemed to prefer the no one mix.
Ugh.
Just had a particularly bitter/acrid wet burp.
I can't wait to sleep for more than 5 hours.
Verdict: Win
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