What a miserable existence! Playing this squeezebox in the freezing cold in this godforsaken town at eleven o' clock at night. For mere peanuts.
Yeah, look at the monkey dance, he's really the star of the show! Well, I owe Mr. Buckles a lot. Who else was there for me through the lean times?
Thank you very much, sir! Thank you too, ma'am!
Time to play the old standard:
God, I hate that song. Whatever happened to my once promising musical career? Okay, getting late, quitting time. Here's what we made today, Mr. Buckles! Whaddya got to say, fella?
"What have I got to say, Giovanni, you loser? You don't return to your job at the Philharmonic til you've paid me back your whole damn gambling debt!"
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For some reason , I only saw an accordion when I looked at the Friday Fictioneer picture prompt this week and couldn't get that old Donovan song out of my head. That is, once I got that damn Lady of Spain out of my head. (Of course, the typical Hurdy Gurdy Man plays an organ grinder, not an accordion or squeezebox.)
I'm sure many other of the Fictioneers had more intriguing takes on the prompt, which you'll find by clicking right here on the monkey, the loan sharking Mr. Buckles.
'Twas then that the Hurdy Gurdy Man came singing songs of love .... once he paid off Mr. Buckles, of course.
