The bluesman sang a blues, and after every line, a pickled heckler piped up with this rejoinder: “Like a lightbulb.”
Woke up this mornin’…
“Like a lightbulb!”
Dragged a comb across my head…
“Like a lightbulb!”
This was funny. The bluesman is bald.
And a good sport. He improvised:
“Got lit up…”
“Got turned on…”
“Used up all my energy…”
A daring maneuver, but not at this time of year. All was calm, all was nice. The heckler shut off eventually. There was a warm glow in the room.
Like a light bulb.

The Wee Freakings and Whence Law? at the Bullfinch. Early show…. The Watcher Flocks and No Room at Hamilton’s. Early show… Harrod at D’ollaire’s, no-show…