We buy a couple of freshly made tamales (Husband gets the one with Molé), fresh made chips, and pico de gallo. We buy a bottle of Coke that is bottled in Mexico, so it is loaded with sugar and tastes completely different from American version. For desert, we eat a basket of freshly picked strawberries. We sit on a bench and eat our treasures, surrounded by artwork, puppies, and people getting outdoor massages. It is heaven. Until it starts.
The Music. It is a guy with the synthesizer, a drum machine and a microphone and no rhythm. He is also tone death- but that doesn’t stop him from belting out old pop songs, mellow rock songs and classic country. Today he was destroying Green Day. He always covers Charlie Rich and Jimmy Buffett. Each reverberation is like a cat getting a bath. Everyone jokes about how bad he is, yet each week, the organizer of the market hands him a check. I want this job. To be horrible at your work and still be paid? I thought that was just for government workers.
Were are all the American Idol contestants? A loud radio would be better or a string quartet. Dogs howling, children screaming, anything would be easier on our ears.
We left and went to try a new BBQ joint in town. As we pulled up to park, a loud screeching sound came from the front of the restaurant. They had hired a “Blues” musician to play out front. AND HE WAS TERRIBLE. Doesn’t anyone audition these guys? We drove away never to try the BBQ.
If the writing thing doesn’t pan out I am buying a guitar and a sound system and I am going on the circuit playing nothing buy Carpenter’s and John Denver.