A-Bomb Chop Shop

about

We were four guys, not unlike any four other dudes, except for the forty years of adult life we'd collectively wasted in this shit hole town. We hadn't lived here our wholes lives, but we might as well have. We'd all been born in some mud hole no more than a stone's throw over one countyline or another. None of us had done anything particularly exceptional but we figured, more or less, that we'd seen all there was to see in this life; the drug abuse, the cross-dressing, the alcoholism, the failed marriages, the bill collectors, and even the lonely park bench of the homeless man who just started fire with a half smoked cigarette on the couch of his last friend. We'd all rubbed our chins on a scratch'n post that used to be a serial number at the base of some generic saturday-nite-special. Our lips had tasted its cheap bitter steal. Yet we never crossed that line, and it wasn't cause our mummies loved us or because or realized we were being spoiled-pussy-fucks. What stopped us was the sudden flash of a peculiar memory, an odd nonsensical verse to a song never written, a punch line to a joke we knew we could tell better than anyone. Who cares how we met. I will say that one degree of separation was enough and you can do what ever the fuck you want with the other five, cause the answer was right there. Rockn'roll didn't save us, we saved it, and anyone who thinks were full o'shit can pull up a barstool the next time we come through town and find truth the hard way, just like we di

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