Like most dumb kids I thought my band would be the one.
I thought our talent, and my guitar, would lead to us to fame and glory not seen since the Beatles and the Stones ruled the airwaves.
Foolish, I know.
My buddy Francis tried his best on the drums his parents bought him as a graduation present, but he never really hit it.
No mater how much i bled my fingers on my guitar, there was an impasse.
The only good thing to come out of the Hobos of Prose is that's where I met Violet.
We had stapled flyers all over town to try to find our bassist, but she was the only one who showed up.
She played a few notes, most of which were on key, and we hired her right there.
It helped that she was hot, too.
Me and Francis weren't animals (that much anyway.)
But we knew having eye candy for all the lonely grunge fans out there would help us secure return gigs.
Violet hit all the notes of a Grunge woman better than she hit the notes of her Bass, with her long black hair, baggy clothing that hid her rail thin frame, and her dusky eyes.
Still, we only really played a few night gigs at half empty bars that ended in more boos than I care to admit before real life called.
Francis got a job offer in Germany through his uncle, the kind he couldn't pass up. So very anticlimactically, the Hobos of Prose broke up.
I had to get a job, so I signed up as a music teacher overseas. I never knew what became of Violet until I came back to my hometown to try to become a music teacher there.
A long day in the american school system meant I wanted to drink that night, and rather than drinking alone I headed to the local bar.
I was barely two feet in the door before I heard a familiar voice go "David?"
When I looked up I saw Violet standing behind the bar, almost exactly as how I'd remembered her.
She had filled out a little, my brain registering that she was still flat chested before I could tell myself to not think about that.
I chatted with her for a bit, and she told me that she owned the place now.
"Yeah the previous guy hired me to work behind the bar, and when he retired he said he'd rather give it to me than sell it."
Stopping in for a drink became a more common occurrence for me, and eventually i suggested that we go out for a few drinks at a place she didn't own.
One thing led to another, and three years later we were married and living in a small starter home in the suburbs.
One day I got an email from Francis.
The last time I had seen him was at our wedding. He wanted the Hobos to take the stage one last time, but we politely declined, as we had found a pretty good DJ.
"Hey David! Hope you and Violet are doing alright. I've been thinking, its been ten years since the ol HOP's first got together, and I know a few places in Germany that say they will let us play. Good places too, not like the trash back home. Let me know what you guys think!"
I thought about it, and honestly it didn't sound bad. Teaching third graders doreme was getting pretty repetitive, and the dates Francis sent on a follow-up were over Summer vacation.
Violet had been hiring new staff at the bar, so she could probably get away for a bit.
"Hey babe, Francis just emailed me. He has a proposition for us."
She called from the next room "If its an MLM say no!"
"How do you feel about a reunion tour in Germany!"
"What! That sounds sick!"
As she walked into the room I was reminded of one complication.
Now that she owned the bar and wasn't on her feet, she had less of a way to burn calories.
And that had led to her getting more of a gut.
if I had to guess she had put on....
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