Dear Ulrich*,
We are not in Dusseldorf, about to play our first concert with the addition of your beatboxing terrapin, Jetta, loaned to us at interest, on the triangle.
And while we were not arriving in Dusseldorf (we think the lawyer speaking in German on the television has suggested we reveal no actual details), we happened to see Roy Orbison outside the random run down dive of a bar where our scooters stalled. We are fairly sure it was Roy Orbison, although it may have been kd lang. Jetta leans toward Orbison and she is obviously a Delphic terrapin of truth.
Roy (or kd -- 10% chance, place your bets now), he (or she) is crying. Over you. Yes, you. We are appalled at whatever you have done to make Roy (and/or kd cry). And we must therefore reprimand you quite severely.
While we are doing this, Roy Orbison (or kd lang, betting windows still open), stands in the gutter. He (or she) may be looking at the stars. We cannot see any stars between the heavenly brightness of the presence of Roy (and/or kd) and the halogen brightness of the motorcycle headlamp speeding toward him (or her.)
We would politely offer to carefully wrap Roy Orbison (or even kd lang, although we preferred when she was just singing about pussycats** and/or big boned gals from Southern Alberta) in the protective couture of cling-film*** but there is no time to get informed consent.
So we settle for efficency instead, quickly wrapping Roy (and kd, there might have been two of them; it was dark, there was fumbling) in a secure cocoon of cling-film and safety. Jetta slowly winks a nod of approval; the police officer on the motorcycle does not.
The officer then proceeds to confiscate our instruments, your Jetta, and your Roy Orbison (or our kd lang), taking them out of the cling-film. Roy (and/or kd) is still crying, still over you. But no longer standing alone, instead strapped to a police vehicle. No one looks thrilled about the enforced separation. Especially not the cling-film, now discarded and looking at the gutter, when it had once been holding so tightly to the stars(we now think it must have been both of them or the officer would not have become so angry with us).
We are writing this from a holding cell. We have missed our concert. Our concert has missed us, perhaps a little less. Do not send bail money. We will be all right, for awhile. The food is nearly edible and they are letting us watch things that we do not understand on a small television.
But do send any cling-film you can spare. Roy may visit. kd certainly won't. We hope they have stopped crying. Over you. Or anything else. Please give our best to Jetta.
Sincerely,
The band aka Blink Kitty Love
*Ulrich Haarbürste writes and collects stories about Roy Orbison in Clingfilm, including the published novel, 'Ulrich Haarburste's Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm.'
**"What's New Pussycat", we heard her in concert, start looking at the stars, people
***Saran Wrap said European style
