Back in the last century Richie Boy, Ronnie D, and I were surfing in the Hamptons. The day ended with beers on the beach. A fire from driftwood warmed our bones and we rehashed old stories, as the sun sank over the salt marsh. Richie Boy's girlfriend asked us to pose for a picture. We stood together in our wetsuits. They took 10 pounds off our waists.
Dawn said, "One-two-three." and clicked a photo.
"Stop that." A man shouted from the hightide line. He was British and older than us. The man walked with a sickly woman. "We don't want any photos taken."
"No one taking photos of a loser like you." I yelled back and Richie Boy started laughing, "You idiot, that's Paul McCartney."
"Asshole." I muttered about myself under my breath, as the old Beatle waddled down the beach. Te woman was his wife. He didn't care about his photo but hers. I was the asshole. He wasn't even in Dawn's photo. I was never a McCartney fan, but that he stood by his wife I admired. Later in the autumn the Fab Paul showed his true colors by playing John Lennon's GIVE PEACE A CHANCE at a show in Tel Aviv. Maybe some of the Zionists will listen, although I think IMAGINE is much more effective a song.
Peace on Mars.
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