Last night

a herd of us went to the Foreigner concert and heard some blasts from the past.  As in, cassette format past.

 

Feels Like the First Time

Cold As Ice

Double Vision

Dirty White Boy 

Head Games

Urgent

Waiting for a Girl Like You

I Want to Know What Love Is

Hot Blooded 

Then the guitarist threw out his remaining guitar picks.  Because I have superior Mardi Gras training, I spied a pick on the ground and placed my foot over it until I could bend over to retrieve it.  I offered it to Maura but she didn't want it.  As the crowd filed out, an older gentleman was bent over and looking on the ground nearby.  Enboldened by a couple gin and tonics, I asked "Whatchalookin' for?"

"I was hoping to find a guitar pick," was his answer.

"Here ya go.  It's yours," I say, as I fish the pick out of my pocket.

"Do you have another one?" he asked.

"What the FUCK, dude?  Seriously, you want me to produce another pick out of thin air for you?" was my smart ass reply.

"Um, no, I meant, did you keep one for yourself?  Because I didn't want to take it if it was your only one," he responded.

Feeling like a super bad person, I mumble, "Oh.  Sorry.  No, you can have it."

In the life of Skitzo Leezra, even nice comes with a tinge of bitch.