Toto Bien

Frank is reading Sun Ra's The World Is Doomed in the chair next to me. I rib him and point to the white helvetica letters stitched across the avocado green polyester satin vests. Which is once again why I'm not a painter, he says. High above my favorite barber stand the 3 stooges posing proudly in the nastiest golf-wear, circa 1922. Noel Black photo bombs the painting in red underoos, circa 1999. The shrunken futbol field is on TV just below The Stooges and I get momentarily lost in the game. The bigger-than-life-size players. Beethoven's symphony in my blue-tooth gives them a majesty far beyond my own feeble attempts. I shout over the beautiful din. An Angel is born! Shut off mad king Ludvig for a minute just to hear the pounding salsa techno always on the overhead speakers here. Talk about a loss of sadness. "Toto bien?" asks Juan.