Twelve
Tragic Kingdom
“Who wants more Gaga?” I yell into the mic. The crowd goes wild, everyone from Tommy’s now migrated over to the Salamander. It’s elbow to elbow with every over-nineteen member of Thalia Island’s privileged community present and accounted for, the karaoke machine is smokin’, and I can no longer feel my lips, which is exactly the way I like it.
I’ve gone through my limited repertoire, hardly caring if I can actually carry a tune this many shots in, but when someone hollers “Celebrity Skin” above the din, I decide to give the people what they want.
Courtney Love and I are one for an entire four minutes.
The crowd goes wild.
I pause long enough to finish the rest of a beer that somehow appeared on a tall stool on the stage—no idea if it’s mine but I’m gonna drink it
