EPILOGUE

"What was really accomplished by depopulating Denton Texas, good/bad or indifferent?" I wonder and my eyebrows huddle together. The hall is empty, balloons are sinking from the ceiling, the floor is crusted with candied corn. I'm sitting alone on the three risers which were the stage. Hiltz the angry P.A. guy is long gone, Ben's drum kit is still poised behind me. My accordian huffs and puffs in my arms and around the acoustics of this empty garage.

My name is Franz Nicolay, I got to this party late and now it seems I am the last to leave. Tonight I fell in love with a lovely witch who's been dead for 30 years. It's ok, I'll see her next year, next year if we make it again, if we can keep up another year of being the house band for the Devil's Ball. Oh we gotta I do now anyway. Won't be here though–seems we've finally worn out our welcome at the old Good/Bad. I hear they are even going to change their name–what now?All good or all bad?

I laugh louder than the instrument clutched to my chest, chokes that bounce back at me from the far wall. I should have gone over to Sweetwater with everybody else. Guess I meant to, I just had this tune in my head so I started playing, and now it is almost dawn. I snap the accordion closed and stand up. The Cat went down the well with the ghouls at the last moment when the police finally showed up. I don't know why he didn't just lay in a corner and meow, no one's going to believe any story about a Giant Talking Cat. That kid really takes himself way too seriously, so it was "Outstanding warrant! Out of my way pigs!" and now we have to wait a year to see him again too. Just like Ingo and Marcus Jeroma over in Germany. It seems my whole life is spread out over one long tour.

I leave the accordion on the makeshift stage and move towards the door. It's going to be a bitch cleaning this up tomorrow but I'll worry about that then–Oh I'm way past worrying about anything. Yeah, the sun's up, no way the bar is still open. I'm sure my friends are awake some where in this neighborhood. I yawn. Maybe I'll call them on my way to the G train. Man, I fucking hate the G train.

Fin