The band we personally continue to call the Rock Pirates—though they still do not have a new band name, and are persisting in their hit-and-run, play-unannounced ways—are on tour! They sent a tour diary (er, postcard) scrawled by at least three distinct hands:
“Yo Artie! We’re bored out of our skulls! Why else would we be writing you?
Stuff we’ve seen on tour:
Trees
White Lines (the highway kind)
Bad pizza
Bad bands
Bad local beers
Crappy clubs (except for two. That’s all we’re saying)
Cheap hotels that sell beer
The movie stink skool, about 50 times.
a guy from the Bullfinch, going to college or something.
Really disgusting gas station bathrooms.
Our navels.
See you back home next week, unless we see you first.”

The note was unsigned. Because they don’t have a name.

Pulling up nearer by: The Good Roads Movement, Rocks Ruts and Thank you Marms at the Bullfinch; BPR at that godforsaken roadhouse near the supermarket (thanks for the tip, Frenchie): and Invisible Government at Dollaire’s. Hamilton’s is closed for a massive private party, a wedding or something…