Strange Girl Read Online Free PDF Page A

us the last time we played there.”
    “So that’s why they tried to kill us,” I muttered.
    Janet nodded. “They’re trained to kill. It’s what makes them happy. The bottom line is we need the cash. Fred’s two months late on his guitar and amp payments and we promised Shelly new equipment. Besides, we knock them dead and we’ll get written up in Rapid City’s newspaper. I already put in a call to them and they promised to send someone to the show. Think about it. Now that summer’s over we don’t have that many gigs scheduled. We need the money.”
    Mike shrugged. “This means we’re going to have to spend the whole week practicing Led Zeppelin and Rolling Stones covers.”
    “Like I can mimic Jimmy Page,” I said sarcastically.
    “That’s not what Burrito Bill wants at all,” Janet said. “Last time, he said it was Fred’s original material that blew the crowd away—especially his love songs. He told me the soldiers and their dates came in weeks after talking about Fred.”
    “Nice try,” I said. “You just made that up.”
    “It’s true,” Dale said. “During our break, when you guys ran off to the kitchen, I hung around and felt out the crowd. Except for the animals who beat the shit out of us, most of the audience loved Fred’s singing. And not just when he did covers.”
    “Burrito Bill told me we have to play ‘Rose’ at least twice,” Janet added, mentioning one of my better creations.
    “That’s great,” I said. “He wants us onstage five hours and I’ve got twenty minutes of original material.” I paused. “Mike’s right, we need to spend the rest of this week rehearsing classic rock.”
    “And locating body armor,” Mike added.
    Janet left to go do homework and we started to play a few Rolling Stones classics: “Satisfaction,” “Gimme Shelter,” “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” Because the Stones always performed with two guitars, Shelly grabbed my old Fender and played rhythm to my lead. She was a decent guitarist but never moved an inch onstage. For that reason Dale and I kept her hidden in the back beside Mike when we played live.
    Dale and I could at least act like we were enjoying ourselves onstage. Indeed, despite his “Corpse” nickname, Dale was a natural performer; he could dance for hours without repeating the same moves. Plus his voice was the only one that remotely harmonized with mine.
    We jammed for an hour before we took our first break. It was then Dale got on my case about playing a new song I’d written called “Human Boy.” It was a typical power ballad; it started slow, got loud, returned to a whisper, then went wild again. Dale had heard me play it at my house and thought it had potential. As usual I couldn’t tell if it was inspired or if it sucked. I had no internal barometer. I only knew “Rose” worked because of the reaction I got when I played it.
    I shook my head when Dale brought up the song. “ ‘Human Boy’ is way too raw to use this weekend. Let’s just call it a night,” I said.
    “At least give us a taste,” Shelly said.
    “Yeah. We’ll tell you if it’s shit,” Mike promised.
    I frowned at Dale. “You swore you’d keep your mouth shut.”
    “If I did that we’d have nothing original to play,” Dale said.
    I strummed a few minor chords: E, A, D, G—I used the four of them a lot. Safe chords, I thought, easy on the ears. I usually came up with the melody first, before I got the lyrics. That’s why I preferred to play my guitar for a few minutes before I opened my mouth. The truth was, I hadn’t really figured out the beginning. . . .
Human Boy
The world sits on your weary shoulders
Every day is darker, colder
You cry out for your savior
Praying there’s something there
It’s just your human nature
Human boy
Try not to weep
You and the other boys
Can have your toys
Until the day you’re buried
Six foot deep
Human boy
There are no answers to life’s questions
No God to hear your confessions
No grace the