cab_sav_fun farmfish the bandicoot, smell'n of beer even though copello wiped hisself, stinked up the table, but he was a cute litle bugga and no one seemed to mind the waft, beside he was quite the dancer and the longer nimbia strummed on the uke, the more fanatical he becomed, the table soon becamed a mosh pit of sorts, these bubblaminals goin' at it, for the misty ghost returned, not only with his funked up green, shiney harp, but a few surrey boys stepped in, tussed to the nines in skeleton costumes ripping chords with fender stratocasters, vichy of all people arrived with an accordion, pipin' paladia had a pan pipe, travis gettin' the invite from an osprey brought some cardboard box contraption he made with rubberbands, dental floss, and tinker toys. he had it wired to a battery-op amp and it sounded wicked. copello and synoin had plasterd smiles, not from the cab_sav, more from the kind of happiness that accompanies unsolicited, spontaneous, fun. they danced like utter fools, but the villagers that spied than from afar with binoculars, telescopic eye implements, and schmancy, fanciful sony=made digital eyethingamabobs were quite impressed. and to themselves they wished, "if i ever grew up, that's what i would be." there were such people, but poor things, they could never be taken more seriously than animals dressed up and acting in a play. nimbia gave his uke to the man who was waiting to innerview synoin. he sat, amused, letting the wind blow through his longish hair. he played along like django reincarnate. then, grabbing one hand of synoin's and the other copello's, nimbia kicked up his heels and joined the merriment, throwing his head back in a freedom he had never known until now. 020110 what's it to you? who go blather from