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BlackbirdNikki stepped out of the yellow cab and waited as Tommy paid the fare. It had taken an hour and a half for the cab driver to get them to the hospital, and Nikki suspected he'd taken the long way on purpose. Though it didn't really matter to him, they could afford the ridiculous fare. All Nikki wanted to do right now was make sure Mick was alright.
The other man was currently in the intensive care unit, after slipping and falling in his bathroom. Needless to say, this was the last thing Mick needed. His back problems had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and it was getting harder and harder each night for him to get up on stage and play. Vince had tried getting Mick to rest and take a break from touring, but Mick wouldn't have it. He was just too stubborn.
Tommy hopped out of the cab holding an old, beat-up guitar case, and ran over to Nikki, who was sulking by the entrance of the hospital. Nikki, as usual, looked absolutely miserable. His hair stuck out in all directi
Motley Crue at Disney world"But I wanna go in Cinderella's castle!!!", Nikki complained.
"But I wanna go on that ride!!", Tommy whined in reply
Vince stood, quietly holding some ballons, next to Mick and not paying attention.
The drummer and bassist started to bicker,
"I wanna ride!"
"I wanna go into the castle!"
"But I wanna ride!!"
"I wanna see if Cinderella is sexy!"
"Me too, but the ride looks more fun!!"
"BUT I WANT THE CASTLE!"
"WELL I WANT THE RIDE!!"
"FINE! I CAN GO ON MY OWN!"
"No you can't! Mom said we had to stay together!!", Tommy bickered.
"uh, here, Vince, hold these." Nikki said as he and the drummer handed the blond singer their many balloons.
"Here, Mick. You hold this. I don't want it in my way.", Tommy grinned, sticking Mickey Mouse ears on the guitarrists head.
Nikki and Tommy began to stir up dust by fighting. Which for the four members of the glam band, It meant scratching, wrestling, pulling hair, kicking in the obvious weak points, and cursing at eachother.
Mick sighed and handed Vince hi
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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