The van crept into the Windy City like a decrepit white moose weary of predators lurking in the surrounding shadows. We were in our first big city of the tour. Scotty The Slam had seen this kind of trouble before. Joey 2 Sticks cracked his knuckles eager like the young kid he is with a chip on his shoulder and a belt on his waist. The gang was lead by Heartbreak Harris toward Ronny’s, a dark dive where crooks and scumbags will stab you in the kidneys as fast as they’ll pick up their phone that they just dropped on the floor accidentally. As for me, Mean Andy P, I was hungry to show Chicago what we came for: a shallow grave for Ronny, and a deep dish pizza for me.
We unloaded the trailer faster than a tommy gun at the cops breaking down the doors of a speakeasy. The crowd looked like a down and out mix of secrets, lies, and passions simmering on low heat, with salt and pepper to taste. Dames and goodfellas mostly. Ronny had established a joint for sinners to shrug off salvation while the angels were left outside to fend for themselves. Gypsyhawk rarely interfered in the affairs of the meek and desperate but tonight at Ronny’s we were here to rock. And prove that once we were done we did indeed deserve free beer.
Special thanks to Ronny for being a stand up cat, Brian and Andrew for the hospitality, and Chicago for never letting down and always standing up.