Typical of Bag End, I can only guess at what’s going on downstairs. I was reading for 1950s History, poring over Nightmare in Red as if watching a Soap Opera (I am convinced that the Red Scare and The Days of Our Lives are equally ridiculous), when the music began.
It took me a while to recognize the song, but eventually, through the foot-stomping and clapping, I picked up the notes of “Folsom Prison Blues,” played amateurly on someone’s acoustic guitar. Yes, friends, there is a party downstairs. There is homemade curry. There is folk music.
Somehow, even though I’ll have a mountain of reading to do tomorrow, even though they’re not exactly my friends, even though they’re positively drunk, I cannot bring myself to go tell them to keep it down. Not when they’re singing Johnny Cash.
They’re singing 4 Non Blondes now. I’m officially going down there to join. Talk to you tomorrow.