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<blockquote data-quote="Mickerus" data-source="post: 911531" data-attributes="member: 11011">Charles sighs heavily, causing trails of smoke to drift up into the dark air of the bar, then slumps forward, planting his elbows on the table in front of him.&quot;A real career?&nbsp; Yeah, I did have those kind of dreams.&nbsp; Hell, maybe I still do.&nbsp; Almost happened, in fact.&nbsp; Was about to get signed up to make an album, but ah, that didn't turn out so well.&nbsp; Things happened, then more things happened, and before I knew it, I didn't have legs any more - so to speak.&nbsp; Me, I could never stand without legs.&nbsp; Some people manage it, use crutches, get those plastic legs, peg legs, whatever.&nbsp; Well, not me.&quot;Charles sits back up, takes a swig of his beer, then continues.&quot;You ever heard that story about the Capistrano swallows?&nbsp; Some spanish mission, it was famous for these swallows that would leave and return to it every year.&nbsp; I think it's in San Juan; I may be wrong, though.&nbsp; Hell, the whole story might be wrong.&nbsp; Only heard it once, to be honest.&quot;&quot;So, let's just say, as a hypothetical situation, you were here to offer me a contract, a record deal, something like that.&nbsp; I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't interested.&nbsp; But I don't think it's for me.&nbsp; This kind of life, hell this bar, this table,&quot; Charles says, pausing to rap his knuckles on the top of the table in front of him, &quot;and all the others like them...&nbsp; They might my Capistrano you know?&nbsp; I could only get away from it so far before the wiring in my pointy little beak had me booking right on back.&quot;Charles finishes his beer with a slightly troubled look on his face, then checks his watch.&nbsp; &quot;It's getting late,&quot; he says, &quot;I should probably head out of here pretty soon.&nbsp; Look, I'm sorry to cut the conversation short.&nbsp; Oh, but I didn't even catch your name...&quot;</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Mickerus, post: 911531, member: 11011"] Charles sighs heavily, causing trails of smoke to drift up into the dark air of the bar, then slumps forward, planting his elbows on the table in front of him. "A real career? Yeah, I did have those kind of dreams. Hell, maybe I still do. Almost happened, in fact. Was about to get signed up to make an album, but ah, that didn't turn out so well. Things happened, then more things happened, and before I knew it, I didn't have legs any more - so to speak. Me, I could never stand without legs. Some people manage it, use crutches, get those plastic legs, peg legs, whatever. Well, not me." Charles sits back up, takes a swig of his beer, then continues. "You ever heard that story about the Capistrano swallows? Some spanish mission, it was famous for these swallows that would leave and return to it every year. I think it's in San Juan; I may be wrong, though. Hell, the whole story might be wrong. Only heard it once, to be honest." "So, let's just say, as a hypothetical situation, you were here to offer me a contract, a record deal, something like that. I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't interested. But I don't think it's for me. This kind of life, hell this bar, this [i]table[/i]," Charles says, pausing to rap his knuckles on the top of the table in front of him, "and all the others like them... They might [i]my[/i] Capistrano you know? I could only get away from it so far before the wiring in my pointy little beak had me booking right on back." Charles finishes his beer with a slightly troubled look on his face, then checks his watch. "It's getting late," he says, "I should probably head out of here pretty soon. Look, I'm sorry to cut the conversation short. Oh, but I didn't even catch your name..." [/QUOTE]

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