Everything is still a mess.
With no hope of recovery.
I have developed a huge crush on Ian Siegal, the lead singer and guitarist who played at the blues bar last Saturday.
He was one smooth mother. Drunk too and high, I’ll bet. (he kept sniffing)
My friends left at 12 or so to go to bed (fools) so I decided to stick around by myself and watch the end of the show.
It was well worth it.
He somehow managed to remove a cigarette out of his back pocket, fish around for a lighter in his front pocket, light it, while at the same time play the guitar, growl out a song, drink copiously and maintain a steady flow of sexual innuendos between tequila breaks.
And he looked fucking hot doing it.
I dream of taking him home and making him play for me, like a little pet blues monkey. Among other things.