Cowboy Kenn

            I played two gigs this weekend, one at the cowboy bar, and one at the steady in Venice. The Venice gig started off ominously. The keyboard player went to turn on his rig, and nothing happened. There was some kind of digital confusion. There were strange looking lights, but that’s it.  We tried to bang on it to get it going, the usual stuff, but it was not cooperating.

            The keyboard player went out to the parking lot to make some phone calls, when Tree Man happened to walk in. We explained the situation to him. He left. The players in the band weren’t overly concerned about not having a keyboard player. "It could be a mixed blessing," somebody said. 

            Then out of nowhere, as if it were a dream, a confusing dream that could be interpreted in the positive or the negative, the keyboard player walked in with a keyboard stripped around his shoulder. 

            “Where’d you get that?” I asked.

            “I was standing in the parking lot when a guy with a cowboy hat walked by with it. I said hey, can I rent your keyboard?”

            “How much?”

            “Twenty-five dollars!”

            “You got it.”

            Only in Venice. And that’s how the keyboard player got his keyboard. A couple minutes later, Tree Man walked in. He had a keyboard under his arm.