The King of the One-Nighters

25 Oct



Chuck Cabot loved the road.  He liked wheeling the big ol’ bus around the corners on almost  two wheels when Corky got too drunk to drive. The looks on the faces of those rubes as he gunned past their tractors on Highway Who Knows-Who Cares was priceless.

Chuck liked pulling into a virgin berg in a swerve of dust and possibilities. He even liked skedaddling out of town. All those mascara streaked faces with angry boyfriends/big brothers in tow scouring the streets with fire in their eyes and  get even in their hearts. He guessed they wouldn’t be trusting the next silver-tongued bandleader who hit town any time soon.  
A couple of the cats in the band missed home cooking but “one nighters were all-righters” as far as Chuck was concerned.  

He liked that the St. Anthony would make you a hot toddy in the middle of the day with nary a raised eye-brow. He thought the chili cheese fries at the Mark Twain were ambrosia. And there was a hat check girl at the Balinese Room who could send Princess Grace back to the kennel. That gal was a whole lotta fun to kid with.  He even had half of a mind to propose to her if he wasn’t so darned hitched to gallivanting across America.

He checked the itinerary for today’s destination.  The Imperial 400 in Needles, Nevada.  Well, Chuck never said the road was perfect.




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