TK Berg

The place had held at least something of a crowd until the sun had sunk behind the hotels and shopping malls out west. Now the horizon was a shimmer of burgundy and the crowd had dwindled to a couple getting ready to leave. The heat of a late spring evening had convinced them they had better things to get up to at home and so they found the intelligent thing to do was to get out of the joint. I saw them coming along the sidewalk as I made my way to the pub, guitar in hand and frantically memorizing lyrics too long for anybody to give a hoot about. I guess that was why the place was deserted by the time I arrived. Now I hadn't expected a huge turn-out, mind you. One friend had announced his no-show with good reason, another one with no reason at all and the third hadn't given any reply whatsoever, so I didn't expect having a hard time getting through the door. Still... When I entered the place, as the echo of my footsteps died down, the bartender treated me to a beer on the house out of sheer compassion and the owner made good on another one. Now, I'm not gonna say that I had the entire city rockin' to my strains within the hour, because you can only suspend disbelief so far. The better play is usually keeping within striking distance of the truth, so with that in mind I gotta tell you that I didn't even pick up my guitar that night. After an hour, two guys sauntered in for a quiet brew and a discussion on football specifics so I figured it just as well to head for home, having no more to show for the evening than a few free beers and a slight headache Sunday mornin'... Shame, ain't it... Now the gig I did by the Tower, down London way, was quite a different story. Playing to a couple of unemployed, one legged lap dancers, the sea dog who'd lost one eye sailing round the Cape one year, and the retired Russian spy who'd almost ended up an icicle on a Moscow street in the coldest winter since the Cold War, but there's only SO much room here and I wouldn't want to stretch your patience, you know...