Just Laugh (if not at this, than other things)

I had story.  Lost it.
No wait, it's coming back to me.

I was temporarily distracted by the grammatical errors in my last two attempts to write a story.

Now, I remember.

Every real man does work in his garage.  And super testosterone men have stereos and 
 cd players.  So they can control what they listen to.

Call me crazy.  My testosterone levels vary.  Some nights I listen to Alice Cooper.  Frankly, he's a dildo and most of his snide comments about famous rockers (of which he barely qualifies) are shit.

But once in a while he surprises me with a song I didn't expect and barely remember.

I do rocks. Not sure why.  Makes a little money but not enough to buy a Corvette.

But occasionally I do rocks with all the intensity my weak-assed 62 year old body will allow. 

Tonight Alice plays something that makes me crank up the volume: "38 Special" if I'm not mistaken


Waitin', anticipatin' For the fireworks in the night 
Well, I swear we were doin' eighty 
When we saw those motel lights 
And we were rockin' into the night 
Rockin' into the night, ooh hoo, rockin' Rockin' into the night Rockin' into the night, yeah

I start to laugh, a deep belly laugh.  I feel good.  So good I almost cut my finger off against the  hard edge of a diamond grinding wheel.

Blood drops down into the well, swished away by flowing water. I'm still happy.

I just learned through Facebook that I have a nephew.   His name is Andrew. 

Some things matter.  Some things don't.