When I got to the show I told the promoter I had been robbed and I had no gear. He gave me half my money up front and I went to Wal-Mart. Olive green “athletic” shorts and a black Johnny Cash t-shirt is my ring gear now. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard a Johnny Cash song. Is he the one who sings Country Roads?
A woman who was there but not working the show offered to lend me her boots. I worked barefoot. Like the Wild Samoans. Borrowing boots was too much. The match was terrible. I was terrible. At one point my opponent gave me a hard slap across the face. I knew she was just trying to “wake me up”. She was trying to get me to do something.
She probably thought I was high. That’s better than anyone thinking that I’m just sad. People are like that. Drug use can be forgiven. It’s strange because not everyone has been on drugs but everyone has been depressed. Yet there’s little empathy for the second.
I used to conduct business in the car. Since I don’t have my adapter anymore, I was making calls for more bookings backstage. My lie about getting robbed had gotten around and a wrestler called Austin Starr told me he could get me on two shows in Memphis tomorrow and Sunday. Based purely on pity. It made me feel ill.
After the show, I sat in the corner on the floor in the locker room for a long time. They closed the place up without realizing I’m here so I’m just going to sleep here.
Rocket Cat 