My friend Pete shows up, puts his keys down, and ducks into the men's room. When he returns, moments later, he says an aging hippie at the urinal told him, "I was wondering when you were going to come in." According to Pete, the man then opened his fly, leaned one hand against the wall without assisting himself, if you know what I mean, and asked, "So, what do you think about life?"
I accuse Pete of messing with me. "I didn't have time to make that up, Charmie," he says. He's right. "Well," I tell him, "welcome to Ypsilanti."
We look over the list of songs available, but I don't recognize any of them. It's not the lineup of Glen Campbell and Top 40 I was anticipating. Maybe the Observer should have sent someone more hip on this assignment.
The first singer takes the stage, and surprise-it's the aging hippie from the bathroom. He performs "Yellow Submarine" (yes, I do recognize that one), shifting from one foot to the other and shrugging his shoulders while singing horribly off key. About halfway through, we notice that his fly is still open. Man, do we laugh.
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