Mind Riot by Ken Bagnis

Author:Ken Bagnis [Bagnis, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-942111-66-5
Publisher: REUTS Publications, LLC

14

In our creative partnership, Windsor always has the best ideas. At least, he thinks so. His latest concept for the band is that we all wear matching outfits. Vintage Burger King uniforms from the 1970s. He adds the stipulation that only he gets to wear the crown. Obviously. I Google what they look like. Pretty fabulous, actually. Orange and yellow plaid with a giant yellow collar. The polyester pants look way too tight and flare out at the ankle, but I would pay big money to see Jace in one of these working a fry machine.

Dr. Palmer thinks it’s a good thing for Windsor to shift his obsessive thoughts away from his space blimp, intergalactic-domination plans, so I entertain the idea. “That might look pretty cool. Where would we find them?”

Windsor clicks his boot heels together. “Let me worry about that. One learns to be resourceful when you don’t have NASA’s budget. ”

It’s true. Every amazing creation Windsor has hot glued or wired together came from his imagination and a monthly personal and incidental budget of $118 a month. If anyone can find nine of the ugliest shirts on the planet, it’s this guy.

I check the time. Everyone is late for band practice. Everyone except Olga. She’s already dancing around the room. She only needs the tune playing in her head. You never know what you’re gonna get with the members of this band. It’s rare that everyone shows up and is in the right mood and frame of mind to make music. I spend most of my time keeping Tammy from taking her top off and Benny from provoking her and Slinky. It’s exhausting sometimes.

Jace bursts in the door with Slinky. “Sorry we’re late! There’s a scuffle going on with Staff and Benny near the medication room!”

My eyes roll. “Shit! He’d better take his meds, or there’s no practice today. I guess we can jam until we see what happens.”

Windsor has another idea. “Let’s work on an original tune. I have some lyrics.”

Tammy straggles in with harmonica in hand. No sign of Evie. It’s not like her. She’s usually ten minutes early.

“Original song?” Why not? I pick up my guitar. An old, green piece of shit that my mother bought me on eBay for eighty-five bucks. It’s embarrassing to show other musicians, but I’ve always felt lucky to have it. Since I started covering it with stickers from the skateboard shop, it looks kind of punk rock. Like Joe Strummer plucked it off a garbage dump, gave it his blessing and leaned it up against my amp. I also own an equally pathetic amplifier. I’ve heard car stereos that are louder. I plug into it and strum the chords for “All the Young Dudes.” My version, anyway. Jace plucks along on his bass. Slinky’s guitar rips in with chunky distortion. He solos a bit. It sounds really good.

Tammy pulls a half-bag of chips out of the trash and digs in. “Don’t you f-f-f-fuck with me, Dr. Stickers. I am s-s-s-starving and withering away.

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