The Itchy Finger

          I'm going into the studio today to lay down a bass line for a song I'm working on. The Gram Parsons sliced finger is sufficiently healed, but for some reason it itches. I was told once that an itch is the minutest form of pain. If that's the case, my finger is experiencing a lesser form of torture. 
             I wasn't able to practice much on account of my finger. The cut left a groove and a layer of skin that kept catching on the strings when I practiced. The string made for a perfect rail and the lip of the healing cut would get stuck on it. I'd yank my hand off the fretboard in pain when that happened. I don't have pain any longer, just a itchy sensation. I've never recorded music with an itchy finger before.  

Better Wood Than Drinks

            I went out last night for a drink. I saw my old jazz-head friends. I hadn't seen them in a while. I had a couple of drinks, but deep down I only wanted one. I woke up this morning with remorse, not from having too much to drink, but rather, that I could have spent the money on lumber for a deck I'm building. My life has changed some in recent years. I have lumber on my mind. 
            I saw Bill the Spooky Guy this morning. I needed some car advice. We talked about forty-five caliber guns and World War Two. His landlord showed up, and Bill got up to open the gate. I took the opportunity to walk to the back of his shop and look at his cars. When I got to the paint booth I saw something move. I thought it was a cat, but on closer inspection it was a black bunny. He had a spider web on his whisker. He seemed friendly, but I didn't take any chances.