The first time was great.
The second time sucked.
And the third time?
Well, my third time busking was great
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.
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,
"All right, go ahead."