THE TORTURED BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Puffing on a Spirit Blue, I perch on a bench outside the Magic Castle waiting for valet to deliver my eighties Beamer, having just been dazzled by the wonders within the walls. The place really lived up to it’s name. Despite all the insanity of my life, I’m not a cynic. In fact, I tend to be a believer. That is, until something’s proven otherwise.

When a man with shoe polish black hair and a long black coat approaches me with intention and abracadabra’s me with the words, “You’re perfect”… after confirming it’s me he’s referring to, well… I’m all ears.

“Thank you?” I respond.

“I am a magician. I need an assistant, and you’re perfect for it.”

I believe him and this is exactly what I need to hear.

This is a time of major disillusionment in my life. I’ve just been dropped from my record label, after my A&R guy was diagnosed with a mystery illness and had to leave for treatment, leaving me in the uncaring hands of indifferent strangers. I’m broken hearted having recently ended an affair with m…