Coffee drinking Carol took up the accordion case sitting on the floor at the foot of the bar stool and, sheet music in hand, she walked slowly to the stage. Her lips twitched and foamed a bit, and every few feet she stopped, shuddered, and spit out a bit of fish tongue.

When she reached the stage, she shook herself and stood up tall and straight. ("Since when did fish have tongues?", she thought.) The stage had a stool and a chair under the spotlights. Coffee drinking Carol put the accordion case down next to the stool. Standing before the chair, she began taking off her foul weather gear.

First, there was the shiny yellow rain hat with the broad brim for shedding rain off her neck. Then she took off the shiny, bright yellow rain slicker, and then the huge black foul weather boots. But under this clothing, there was another layer of foul weather gear. And she peeled that one off too. And she kept peeling off layer after layer until this remarkably small women shrunk to an unbelievably small size.

And she stood straight (and as tall as she could), took the accordion out of it's case, arranged the sheet music on top of the huge pile of slickers on the chair, sat down (or rather, up, sort of) on the stool, and began to play.

The beautiful and haunting strains of "Les Croissants pour les hosers des Mudchat", a piece written just for accordion by the dancer with the Atherly Arms T-shirt and the video of the '72 series stuck in her pants, filled the room ...along with the aroma of bear sweat, dumpster effluent, vomit, beer, and aging cod fish.

The bear covered his ears and groaned...