THAT COULD HAVE BEEN US
The true story of a tragic club fire that never happened
“Stumpy’s gonna breathe fire.”
“Do what?”
“Yeah, Stumpy’s gonna breathe fire. On stage.”
A long pause. We stare at the road.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Well, we don’t exactly know how he’s gonna do it yet, but there’s that middle part in ‘Godzilla’ where it’s just drums and shouting in Japanese and I think that’s when he’s gonna do it.”
“Aw man, cool! But wait, how’s he gonna do it?”
“Not sure. If you watch someone do that shit, Gene Simmons or one of those guys, they’re just spitting something on a flame and it makes the flame get huge. They don’t really breathe fire y’know.”
“Wait, hold up, so he’s gotta play drums, handle an open flame, put something flammable in his mouth, and then…well, let’s stop there. How?”
Another long pause. A swig of biting, sterile, bottom-shelf bourbon. I swerve to avoid a skunk.
“I dunno. This wasn’t my idea.”
“Jesus god. He’ll kill us all. You know that, right? Jesus. He’s gonna kill us. He’s fucking insane.”
