The Absurd Luck of Dante's Inferno

It had deceptively been an eternity since karaoke at Del’s Saloon was done right. Needing reinforcements I called on Dante, a ruler with an iron fist, the kind of King that flexes utterly brute strength, the type followers revel in, a Basher persistent in his quest for glory who is respected by all.

Roxie even convinced me to take the floor for yet another show stopping duet.
Singing “Joey” by Concrete Blonde was her idea, and my lack of lyrical knowledge earned me glares of despise from the many eardrums I abusively shattered. She definitely carried the weight of our performance. That led to Dante's captivating theatrics. Dante is never afraid to serenade an unsuspecting female with scared boyfriend by her side, mostly because singing Bob Marley’s “Is This Love” is universally accepted as non-threatening.
I enjoy deer in headlights, and so does Roxie.

She also did some good P.R. by meeting a journalist for a local paper, one who will undoubtedly assist in spreading hazardous propaganda when my masterpiece of a philosophy book gets published within the month.
And of course, being blessed with the presence of Dante only adds an urgent vibrancy to Bashing. The courageousness of his attacks are undoubtedly entertaining, but his well-timed comic quips come from an intense intelligence bystanders covet.
Dante brought along the always “cool under pressure” Gary, a Basher with a penchant for decadence. He's on the left in Roxie's cap.
Under the guidance of Roxie, we played musical hats and swapped for fun. My sincere hope is that I didn’t contract head lice. My worries were quickly erased when a stunning turn of events pulverized the consistently sturdy balance in my life.
I shockingly bumped into Ericka, a former flame fantasized about who had apparently moved to Santa Monica months ago, a breathtaking coincidence that blew me away, a turn of events unexpected, for the haunting of my past catching up threw my psyche into a reckless tailspin. At first I was somewhat speechless, grasping for firm bearings, forcing myself to speak to her which came off stunted, feeling as though my command of the English language slipped into incoherent slurring and emulated poor greenhorn commentary that usually leads to irreversible embarrassment. My actions were definitely bush league.
She’d been to Del’s years ago, and in this case, dropped in to see how well the place had progressed. She seemed unfazed by our chance encounter, but the innermost effect on me was immediate and abrupt.
I deflected my nervous attention by taking photographs with Roxie’s camera, since my beloved Canon remained in Best Buy purgatory with a service completion date dwelling in irritating limbo. Ericka loved my new hat, so I swiftly ended up letting her wear it. We ventured to the outside, because I had to introduce her to Roxie at once.
She had never met Roxie before, and the both of them hit it off famously, a sign that my judgment is on par with what the world would want.
Roxie instantly fell in love with her, which isn’t hard to do. After all, Ericka did win the “Best Head on Chest When I'm Waking in the Morning” Award. Time can be kind to rekindling unless the dream has burnt out. I hope it hasn’t.