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Brosseau bandstand busking

okay, here’s a new one- tommy b. playing in a bandstand in the heart of london on a cool, windy autumn day. there’s a panel of folks there you may not be able to see. you can hear ‘em, though. the panel is comprised of this particular bandstand’s regulars. think of it in terms of a roadside diner somewhere in az. they aren’t there for the show. but they are part of the woodwork. tommy b. was in their domain. they were kind enough to allow filming. their names might have been constance the grift, mighty alfred, stink-eye edward the V, lovely ms. kate of the tube. 

At the moment, pt. 5…

Got a new shirt on, the man said. Oh, yeah? Yeah. I could see it was a nice one, crisp, clean, you know how they are. Yup, he said, turning away from the sun, nudging the heavy coffee mug on the counter. It was Bisbee, or was it Bixby. I don’t know. It was sunny, sunny as hell. He rambled on, rambled about life now compared to life then, about his wife who recently died 25 years old, about shaving. Nicked myself, he rambled, nicked myself this morning. Nicked myself good, he said. Didn’t realize that’s what was flaking off. From here it looked like tiny sheets of carbon, but it was dried blood, and it was flaking off. 

At the moment, pt. 4…