HOT DOGS AND DRY RICE

Every musical instrument I’ve ever played had an element of gore or disgusting byproduct to it. You’d think that fact would be poetically offset by the beautiful music I produced.

Nope!

I was never a good enough musician to rise above the gallons of sloppy trombone spit that soaked through every carpet I’ve ever played on.

Such is life.

Ps. That kid in the first few panels is Baby Alex. Just a little older for this story.