Quarter of eleven.
I plugged my P Bass in and made some noise on it: sounds awesome with just the Fender Hi Mass bridge and even more so with the Model P pickup. I love the sound of the P Bass; it brings back memories of the late seventies and early eighties. This means things like Bubble Yum and Pop Rocks in junior high school; and Lemon Pepsi and Nacho Cheese Doritos for when we had company, especially my brother and his wife. And we played Uno, the old card game, or Mille Bournes. Monopoly, and occasionally chess. My brother was way too good. He could even beat me at games of pure luck and then he laughed his brains out. But once when we went out to play miniature golf in Moscow Idaho, I got two hole in ones, which really aggravated my dad, while Jeff laughed like crazy. At the same time, my mother stayed in the car with a case of nerves, really suffering. Nobody else seemed to care how she felt. She also hated pizza, and we had gone to Karl Marx pizza parlor for dinner. Everyone was drinking except for me and Jeff’s wife. She might have had a glass of wine. I wasn’t conscious that the alcohol was a problem until I was sixteen and the drinking I saw was embarrassing. But two years later I tried it myself and found out what the hoopla was all about… So now I thrash on my P Bass a little angrily, though the memories are subconscious, and the indignation occurs to me only later.