Edited Roland Goity and John Ottey; illustrations by Kimy Martinez
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Tour Diary (Excerpts)
By Sean Ennis
Day 15
Show’s off, and I’m trying to sleep under the Rattlesnakes’ dining room table. Their lead singer fingers through the Kama Sutra with his girlfriend. Their bass player left his kid’s car seat in the parking lot to make room for more beer. Someone calls for a mirror, and it’s for their eye make-up.
Southern California has been all cold rain and pigeons. No beach, no bikinis, no flamingos; I’m told that’s Florida — the only place we’re not going. Got bronchitis somewhere between DC and Santa Cruz and had no air on stage through Raleigh, Austin, Tempe. My lungs want to go on tour, too, find a better body. They’re sick of the smoke and damp and the party in the living room. Last night, I chipped a tooth on the mic trying to make it work, Clip blew a fuse, Warren’s cords got lost and Milk has broken every drumstick. Our van smells like a zoo, like the dark alley behind a zoo.
“Record sales are down,” Roger, tour manager, says, betting our band’s money away on gin rummy. But my boys are still cheery — the Mexican stuff being cheap here — and look, from under this table, to be walking on the walls.
Late night, the balloon deflates; then it’s just snores and NASA static from the stereo. A cat paws across all our backs, little claws. Clip changes his strings by flashlight, looking like a battlefield medic, eyes insomnia-wide, wire cutters in his mouth, playing the E and the A back and forth, listening close, as if for a heartbeat.
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