The Healers.

It's Friday night. Another miserable rainy eve in the Emerald City. The neon lights glare off the glistening streets. The rich aroma of water logged loam and damp pine fill the air. Cabbies honk their horns. Hobos wander aimlessly. Drunk co-eds howl.

The door of a good time bar opens. Some chubby girls are singing "Sweet Caroline." One of them is a half basket of onion rings away from plastering the toilet bowl with grenadine and stomach acid. The other already has.

These dudes belly up to the bar and order a couple of Long Islands. They're decked out in their nicest white sneakers. One Latino. One a descendent of the lost tribe of Suquamish. They talk amongst themselves. They never smile. They're buddies for life.



Just here to sing? Perhaps. Lookin' for tail? Solid Chance.

The karaoke dj fires up a little Deep Purple....



Everything is going to be A-OK.