transfer notes — 6/3/00

	The unfinished ink was just a few weeks old when I drove west, then south, taking the Kamloops route towards Vancouver.  

After stops in Portland & Seattle, I was on my scenic way to Calif when I followed a Sunday afternoon impulse on the 101 in Lincoln City OR: a figure standing in the median playing a wireless guitar solo. 

I found the closest motel & checked in. The bar was just across the highway. I left everything in the truck & made a beeline. 

	The shredder was now back indoors with the rest of the band. Classic rock mixed with happy chatter, beer bottles & pool balls clicking from the attending dozen or so in various conditions:

—A skinny hippy chicken-danced to a fog machine. 

—A senior biker vest in soft moccasins leaned crutches on the bar near his stool & wife with a cancer shirt & head bandana. They back-&-forthed with a same-aged non-vest & woman in a wheelchair & neon pink leg cast. 

—A young, clean Izod short-hair in Gap shorts stood smiling at his older girlfriend who pursed a butt while she took a stool at the bar & ordered burgers & fries for them both. He wanted tater tots, instead. 

—Another couple, just past their turning points, played pool. Mutton chops racked. A hair pile broke. They shared a stick & kissed.

—Children played around a table near their mother, who, from across the dim room, resembled a child with make-up, smoking in a corner. 

	This transfer paper from the new tattoo was folded in my wallet when I paid for my beer. I’ll scribble on anything in a pinch.