Rudy Powell

Rudy Powell sat in his easy chair and donated money to a Tsunami Relief organization. He felt fine as he clicked the icon that sent five thousand dollars to people less fortunate than he. Rudy set his computer aside and went over to his bar. He dropped several lumps of ice into a glass, and poured in three fingers of wild turkey. He took a quick drink and lit a smoke. On the bar was a spiral notebook opened to a blank page. Rudy took another drink and a magic marker out of his pocket, and set to work on a set list. He wrote:

1. Sand to Glass
2. I want Your Bush Love
3. Bush Love (reprise)
4. Camel Peace Piss
5. World without Filters


Rudy wrote out the set list, and drank. The club management promised Rudy and his band a quarter of an hour that night, and he wanted to make the most of them. Rudy hummed ‘Sand to Glass’ and drank. He drank and then sang:

‘I want to turn your sand to glass
take this missile up your ass.
Fuck your turban, and fuck your sister,
My warhead will give her a blister.’

‘It’s is so fucking tight,’ he said and drank. ‘Goddamned,’ he said, ‘what a fucking song.’

Rudy checked his band’s website, and the their fan mail, and the comments section of the band’s blog. He switched on the television while he composed witty and clever replies in his mind.

‘…think that jounalist should receive money from the government for reporting on government programs.’
‘Without these programs Brit, several journalists would be out in the cold. They would be un-able to make a living.’
‘I agree totally Tom. These programs are indispensable. These programs provide twenty or thirty thousand dollars to needy journalist.’
‘But at what trade off?’
‘Well, obviously the journalist will have to…’

Rudy switched off the television, and closed his notebook computer. He put on his leather biker jacket, and packed up his guitar. He locked up his apartment and went down the interior staircase.

At the front door he stopped, and said; ‘Shit.’ Rudy reversed course, and went back up the stairs to his apartment. He grabbed the fat envelope off the bar and stuffed it inside his coat pocket.