The first time was great. 

The second time sucked

And the third time? 

Well, my third time busking was great 

and 

it sucked.

I went to the UCLA campus, my alma mater, thinking that a familiar setting would help. The kids 

were awesome. The adults, 

if you call children adults, 

I call them hellions from hell,

laughed at me. 

Loudly.

It sucked.

Back to the kids. They 

were great. I was at the Lot 6 turnaround on the UCLA campus when I saw a woman waiting for a ride. I approached her 

with my standard pick-up line:

"Excuse me, do you know what a busker is?"

"No," she said,

out loud, but, silently, her body language said something like, "who the fuck wants to know, stink man?"

"A busker," I said, politely, "is a street performer, like a musician or a juggler. I'm a writer. I have a political satire about three minutes long with a built-in pause about 60 seconds into it. Can I read you the first 60 seconds and then you can decide whether I should continue or stop?"

She had an expression on her face that looked like fear, 
but came out of her mouth as 

"All right, go ahead."

 


Next