Blackmail is a little east of here, on South Congress Avenue. Eclectic, a little trendy, a little classic, it’s mostly [as the name would imply> black clothing. The front display, for the past few weeks, has been this priceless, artistic display of cowboy boots.
Since I was trolling along with almost dead batteries in the camera, I just snagged one, quick shot, hoping it turned out for the best.
The picture didn’t catch any of the boots, other than the neon one, but in the reflection, there’s my half naked body. Which sparked another thought, The Mirror Project. Don’t know if they’ll publish the picture, but it was worth a try.
But it was accepted:
The Mirror Project.
I must be really easy to please, “Hey, I’m going to the lake Saturday, want to go?” Makes my weekend complete.
I’ve been meaning to transfer dozens of images I’ve got from the little Handspring Camera thing.
I was marginally successful with my results. There was one, of course, that I caught at the last minute, just off Congress Avenue, I glimpsed up and saw the street sign “Music Lane.” On top of it, it says, “No Outlet.”
Ask most the musicians I run with, and that’s the case. It’s a dead end street. Sort like being a rock star astrology guy, too. Can’t not do it, but man, it’s lonely out here on the road.
Too bad the little camera is rather limited in its capabilities. There’s a sign, just in front of the sidewalk in front of the Texas State School for the Deaf, “Sidewalk Closed.” Stretching out as far as the eye can see, pristine [if somewhat old> sidewalk begging to be trod upon.
I don’t have many regrets in life, but here’s one I’m going to have to miss, as I’m too broke to just hit the road for nothing other than a good time: ZZ Top’s \\Casino Tour 2002\\. I figure that would be too much fun, a chance to the Top in an intimate casino setting.
I suppose, though, that’s a like the sign, Music Lane and No Outlet.
One regret I didn’t have last night was my faithful “right of first refusal” Aquarius buddy. She grabbed me for some dinner at Hoovers, and we then tried [and failed> to catch the roller derby team one place then, somehow wound up at a dive on Sixth Street, under the soft evening air, listening to story after story from the usual diverse group. But the best comment came from an ever later arriving Aquarius in a darling vintage dress.
“Nice dress,” one guy [Virgo> commented.
She glared. She left with the Pisces, and returned, changed into slacks, a little later. Seems she had a stuck zipper. Or something.
Strains of guitar solo floated through the evening air, the one Aquarius was unstuck, the other Aquarius was better, and I enjoyed Hoover’s “Jamaican Jerk” pork ribs. Just about everyone agreed though, the music across the street? Wasn’t that good. Might not be an outlet.