the six pistols

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My mom says I’m hanging out with a bad crowd.  I said there’s six of us, Mom.  That’s a good crowd.

 

Friday night.  The lounge area at WAIF.

“I’m doing stand-up at this club in Clifton, tomorrow.” I said.  “I got five minutes.”

“Excellent,” said Dave.  “I’ll see if Carl and Buffy can go.”

Bob came over, dropped his backpack.

“What are you doing?” he said, in slight Kentucky twang

“Stand-up in  – ”

“What do you know about stand-up?”

“More than you,” I said.

 

The third chapter of Plrknib begins.  Click here to continue.