Jah Peril, the bastard Rasta, formerly the musical accompanist with the theatrical group Piquer Acts, sat contemplating the roach of a spliff in his hand. He wheezed on it mightily before dropping it reverentially into his pocket for future reference.
He looked around him.
“Nah doubt it. Sickleville all bringly. Need place rest I head.”
The Astroway was empty, save for a few derros staggering this way and that.
“Hey breddah - spare smoke?”
“Faaaaarrrkk offf!” was the only reply.
An empty pastry wrap flew past Jah on the breeze. He snatched at it out of boredom, but it evaded him and suddenly metamorphosed into The Bizarre Taxation Accountant.
“Open yeyes!” said Jah in surprise, “Lower Zimbabwe Betal Nut Tree smoke do thing I had no hope.”
Taxy leapt around a bit, mimicking Nuyerev - in that he was wearing tights and delicate ballet shoes. Eventually he came to rest on the kerb next to Jah.
“Wanna be a bass player? said the blind man to the thief,” expostulated Taxy.
“Hey breddah. I am da bass player ja look for. I’d a otbass any breddah wit da bass.”
“Who wants a bass player? Said the thief to the blind man.”
“Ja do mon. I da bass player ja need.”
“The Jizzbuckets want the bass player. Basses who? Basses high? Hmmm... must go and fly. See the flying horse like me on the stir-fry.”
Jah blinked. Suddenly there was no one there. An empty wrapper tumbled nonchalantly down the street, borne aloft on a sudden gust of wind.
He got up and strolled casually down the street.
“Wad da mon mean?”
Pondering this question, he continued walking. A poster cried out at him from a building site wall:
ACE FREEMOK PRESENTS THE JIZZBUCKETS FRIDAY NIGHT THE FLYING HORSE HOTEL
“Hmmmm. I be at da gig for contractdual obligaytions.”
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
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