The Fourth Floor Web Guy played trumpet in high school. Then he bagged it until he was better than 60. It took him a year or so to get his lip (embrashure? something?) back in shape after all those years playing bass, keyboards and whatever else tickled his fancy. But he did it, and now is playing gigs. He just bought this beautiful new Phaeton. (More about Frank.)
Me, all these years I've been writing. What a fool. I never learned to play an instrument, though I've always wished I had.
Why I can't stop: I shoulda been a rock star—or a photographer.
2 comments:
You are right. Probably why you have all these close associations of one sort or another with photographers.
You could, like, take some pictures of me. Because you know you can sell them for a lot of money.
Give me a time. I want that cute dog in them. But no pooing, and no s** toys.
shoulda woulda coulda...arghhhhhh fugettabouit Claudia let me tell you girlfriend...who could come up with a more clever title than "frankly speaking"? What I am waiting to see is the picture of you standing with your legs spread over Frank's big head...you needed back up for that job, honey pot.
What does horny Paris know? selling pictures of her for money..hmmm, well maybe if you get her with trumpet in some bedroom position with Frank, you know what Im talking about...like that Pulitzer nymphomanic who had a saliva experiece with such an instrument built to blow on long into the balmy Palm Beach nights..didn't it turn into one point of their divorce disagreement?! anyway, is Paris thinking about going all the way or something for your camera because if she does with the dogs Im telling you that bestial sideline photography business you were dreaming in Ironbound with me the other night about has enormous Hollywood potential.
Post a Comment