Tilt to the Rescue
I'm writing this letter to thank you because one night not too long ago Expresso Tilt saved my sanity.
It all started when a friend and I went to the El Sombrero restaurant. The owners, aware that I am something of a Mexican spirits expert, gave me some of the new margaritas they were trying out. I gave them a few pointers, and they eventually came up with a couple of winning concoctions.
Not much later I decided to go to another local establishment, the Deer Park. This was very unusual for me. I don't go to bars much, and I hadn't shown my face in Newark in a year. Besides, I've got a great girlfriend and a VCR. It's even stranger when you consider that White Lightning, a Grateful Dead clone, was playing that night. You know I was deranged.
At the Deer Park I had a couple shots of vodka and a beer or two, so I was feeling pretty good when I asked the waitress if her mother worked there. Well, you'd have thought I grabbed her by the nibbies because she immediately ran off to the bouncers, who decided to escort me out of the place head first. As you might expect, I resisted their every effort.
These intelligent young men eventually got the better of my person and dragged me over a table complete with a shocked old bag of a woman sucking down some soup. My exit, however, was temporarily interrupted when I happened to grab a passing doorjamb. They had me by the legs and pulled, and the wretched waitress was biting at my fingers. All I wanted was to finish my beer. Is that so much to ask?
The cops showed up just about then, and I was searched and handcuffed before being gently deposited in the back seat of a copmobile. Off we went to the hoosegow.
After the usual administrative exercises, they stuck me in a lovely wrought iron and concrete cell. I woke at about 5 am and stared at the walls trying to regulate my breathing to fight off the mounting claustrophobia. I would've lost it completely if I hadn't discovered a copy of Expresso Tilt in my back pocket, which kept me amused and occupied for a few hours until the cops sprung me on my own recognizance.
I wanted to leave the Expresso Tilt for the next guy, but the cops wouldn't let me. After taking a look at it, I'm surprised the cops didn't arrest you. Nevertheless, the eventually clipped me for 65 smackolas, and I still haven't gotten over it.
So thanks again for preserving the tired remnants of my sanity. I remain your faithful reader,
Jones "Woody" Purcell (songwriter, musician, and poet)
See Jones Purcell's poem for James Hampton.
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