bottom line

buzzed from the show, our most successful to date - crowd, energy, sound, music, profit, feedback all pleased me

the hotel manager who never talks to me comes to see me in the middle of my shift:

"so how'd the show go?"

"very well" i say - "damn good show"

he stares at me with cold blank eyes, looking like he's expecting me to say something

"wasn't too busy though, huh?" he adds, finally

"uh... i dunno - how busy is it supposed to be?"

"how much did you guys make?" he asks

"about a grand" i honestly report

"about a grand, huh" the manager repeats, then leaves

gears grind in my head - this is what he came here to say? like, what does he want from me? if we were the wrong band for the bar, isn't that his fuckup? did our crowd not buy enough overpriced drinks? i only put two peeps on the guest list and neither showed - even bought several beers myself

kind of killed my buzz, this negative asshole coming by just to passive aggressively complain about the lack of money he expected to make from the show - i was happy with the turnout, our first ever encore request which mike refused to grant, of course - guess the manager was expecting a BC-DC sized crowd - poor guy - we killed his buzz with our subgenre music and our subcult following - maybe we should have subsidized his drink sales

well fuck it - can't be too concerned with that dick's bar profits - we played a good show and that's all i care about

maybe it was revenge for that time i told a rude customer to fuck off and no one could prove it was me - or maybe since my brain's been mercifully spared its paranoid obsessions so long, it decided it was due for one - in any case, it's something to write about – new bullshit to supplant the garden variety