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GRINGO'S CHRONICLES
was a dark night.
the sort of dark that chokes the street lights. the fog was thick just
like the cave on a february saturday night. on a particularly lonely
street the tension was particularly thick. what was afoot only four
people had any sort of a solid idea. Four people with a vague notion.
that vague notion was music. John was sitting peacefully grading papers.
he wrestled a bit internally with both frustration and amusement as
he waded through a stack of essays that were initially assigned with
the intention of resuscitating some creative juices in his students.
Juices that have been long deadened by the t.v., the p.c. and the d.v.d.
(not to mention the c.d.) a few had hit the mark. Most however had bricked
with a terrible "thud"!! still he was quite peaceful for in the back
of his mind he knew that the time was almost at hand. it was time for
music. This was what it was all about. he loved his work and he loved
his life but music was the straw that stirred the drink. Out on the
interstate Warren G. was cruising up the road on auto-pilot. This was
a path he had driven hundreds of times before. Sometimes one way. most
times it was round trip. He never seemed to mind making the drive though
because it gave him at least a temporary reprieve from the blissful
but heavy quietness of home. He needed action and a night like this
was just what the doctor ordered. 'this is going to be a first' he thought,
equipped with the same vague notion that it seemed was becoming a theme
for the evening. In the dimly lit living room of the scotsman the unwelcome
intrusion of headlight beams was quickly fading. As he was backing out
of the driveway he had a sense of "what the hell am i getting myself
into?'. Along the way he was remembering that, though he and john went
quite a ways back, that would only lend to the inevitable unpredictability
of the evening ahead. He knew things were going to be different after
tonight. Not everything. not his home, his job, his beloved wife and
not his on-going conflict with the sherriff of Carrboro but just 'things'.
Around 8:00 Warren G. and the Scotsman (known affectionately as Vu'du)
arrived at the hut. just before they knocked on the door it seems that
John's amusement had caught his frustration in a nasty headlock and
his attention span had disqualified them both for not being entertaining
enough. Thusly, the paper grading had been abandoned in favor of a bit
of vintage KISS on the c.d. player. The knock, though unnoticed for
a minute or two (I'm sure some of you can understand) was eventually
answered and the odyssey began to unfold. Outside, piercing the thickness
of the night was the glow of a pair of shining red eyes. Red like brake
lights with a royal attitude. A lone figure stood outside the hut and
there was nothing vague about his ideas or his intentions. This was
a man who had found that tension was far more than an ally. it was his
best friend. it helped him keep his mind in the game. As long as his
mind was on his mission his mission was never far from being accomplished.
The figure had only one thing on his mind. 'this thing must be stopped,'
was that thing. 'before it ever gets started' was another thing sent
to keep the first thing company. These thoughts were quickly whisked
into a back room as a pair of headlight beams whipped across the drive.
The figure fled into the darkness. The very union he cursed was actually
about to come together and there was nothing he could doabout it. At
least not now. The thoughts he had that had moments ago been so gainfully
employed were now being temporarily laid off...
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