“Any time dude.”
The cowboys had just left the restaurant. It was cold outside, so they didn’t stand on the street for long. But they did stand long enough for Yote to ask Rice an important question: “Are you happy with the way things turned out?”
Rice considered it. Johnny Hick and the Fuckwits had been a long time ago. He was reformed. He was a good Christian, with good work as a good composer, and plenty of good friends.
“Yeah, what am I sayin’, you’re just fine,” Yote said. “Still, after that whole thing with Nick… Flashpoint Zero could use another guitarist. Just say the word.”
Yote walked one way with Willie Nelson. Rice walked the other with Johnny Cash. On the way back to his apartment, Rice entertained the idea of joining a punk band again. It would be different than the last time. Better. He could avoid making the same mistakes; he would know the warning signs, and he could be the one to draw the line when things went too far.
But there was the problem: punk always took it too far. Rice decided he’d rather not be involved.
…Yet he paused as Yote walked away, waiting for moral guidance.
Cash didn’t weigh in.
So, right, then. Rice decided he’d rather not be involved.
© Ray Underscore Thompson, November 2015