Cleaning out my purse, I found this:
A wadded up bar napkin with this story scratched in black ink:
Once upon a time in a bar far, far away
three young boys struck up their guitars and played.
It was a song about sex, about remorse, about the lack of educated women in the check-out line at the Walmart.
It made the people sad- the girls cried and the bartender poured out her soul to the man in the black hat.
Then they danced.
What’s in the bottom of your purse?
sand, from when I took my purse to an impromptu beach picnic with the cast of La Traviata and it got hooked on someone’s foot as they swingdanced, and was dragged through the sand.
I tried to get it all out, but have you ever tried to empty your purse of sand?
not easy.
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