Guest blogger Tom Brosseau’s 2007 album, “Grand Forks,” revolves around the area’s 1997 flood. Watch him here perform one of the album’s best tracks, “Here Comes the Water.”

My friend Chris Lindgren called. He lives in Denver now. I first began playing music at his club, the Westward Ho. The Ho was an entertainment complex, really the only one of its kind. They had comedy, sports and music, even conferences — Ronald Reagan spoke at the Westward Ho. I saw Richard Buckner, Bo Diddley, Vic Chestnutt and Mitch Hedberg. Mitch and Chris were friends. Chris tour-managed Mitch Hedberg.

“Is this a travel day,” he asked.
“No. I’m already here.”
“There’s a hotel, the Driskill. When Mitch would come in and do Austin we’d stay there. Stop in and have a drink for him.”
“Maybe I will.”
“It’s historical. Mitch had this joke about hanging out on 5th Street- nothing really happens on 5th Street. All the action is on 6th Street.”
“I was thinking about one of his jokes. Can you call them jokes?”
“More like one-liners. Which one?”
“‘I took a bite of Swiss cheese and missed.’”

Mary and I drove to The Mean Eyed Cat for the Mojo magazine showcase. They had a long table of BBQ, beans, coleslaw, potato salad and, at the very end, iced tea. I never drink tea. There were fresh-cut lemons. I took a few and pinched them. I had a cut on my finger and felt the sting of the juice. I emptied a packet of sugar and stirred it around. We took a seat at a picnic table. I rolled my sleeves to get some sun.

There was a dog roaming around, a Pit Bull mix. He came to my side. I tasseled his ears. I always talk to animals. “Whatcha doin’ kid?” I said. “You a good boy?” He was panting. His face was white, he had one black ear, and his body and belly was spotted. He looked up at me. His little eyelids were pink.

A gal was standing in the parking lot. I recognized her. She’s a journalist and contributing editor for Mojo.

“Sylvie Simmons, my name is Tom.”
“Oh, right — Brosseau. Nice to meet you!”
“I wanted to come and say hello. How’s things?”
“Very well, thanks! You?”
“Hot!”
“I have a hat if you’d like?” She pulled it out from her bag. It was of mesh material and had a button of tree. “Here you are.”
“I don’t think it’s gona fit,” I said. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

The Austin Whole Foods is huge. They sell an elixir there, a tonic of sorts, called G.T. Dave’s Kombucha. They come in a variety of flavors, but I like grape. This drink is strong and has a bit of a kick! It feels like it’s making you better as you drink. I picked up some candied almonds, too, and also bought a bottle of wine and a thank you card for Mony V.

“I know you,” the gal at checkout spoke.
“You do?”
“I saw you yesterday at Jo’s. I had my little Shih Tzu. You almost stepped on her.”
“That’s right! She has a little white collar.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ve got a good mind. I’m impressed!”
“Thanks.”
“Did you see any music yesterday?”
“Yeah, me and my friends hung around 6th Street and then we went back to my house. Some people parked in my driveway! I don’t have a car, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but can you believe the audacity!”
“Did you call the tow company?”
“No.”
“That was nice of you! Most anybody would have.”
“My friends wanted me to, but I’m not that kind of person.”

I went to one of the movies playing at SXSW, “The Pleasure of Being Robbed.” It is a very quiet, very good feature, and the actress, a gal by the name of Eleonore Hendricks, was really fun to watch. She is a lonesome, charismatic, lanky thing, and very pretty. There’s a good scene where she politely turns away her next-door neighbor.

I saw the Treaty Oak today, a 500-year-old tree. It is mysterious and ancient feeling. I stood and looked it over. It is strong. It hunches from when someone poisoned it in the 1980’s. The wind picked up. I closed my eyes and listened to it sway, listened to it bend. It is flexible. I do believe it will outlast it all.

I met up with my friend Adam Pierce. He had on this Bermuda shirt he bought at a gas station when I went on tour with Mice Parade.

“I remember where you got that!” I said. “It was in Florida, in Jacksonville.”
“Rob Laakso tried to take it from me, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“How’s Doc these days?”
“Good, Tommy B.”

The day we played in Jacksonville we went to the ocean. Everyone got in. The day was overcast, but warm. I sat on the white sand and read “Islands in the Stream.” It was a good fit, reading Hemingway.

“Tommy B., did you get a new guitar?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to your old one?”
“I had to give it back.”
“I liked that guitar.”
“Me, too! I saw the Frightened Rabbit video up on Fat Cat.”
“Pretty great, huh?”
“Yeah. How’s No Age?”
“Man, those guys are awesome!”

The Mice Parade tour was quite extensive. We went to Europe and Asia. We played a small port town in France called Cherbourg. It was lovely. The venue was near the water and all of the boats were tied up and the sail poles poked the sky. They looked like hors d’oeuvres. There were fishermen cleaning their catch and sea gulls hovered to get the scraps. The venue owners made us steamed crab; we ate fresh bread and cheese and drank red table wine.

I have not removed my purple wristband. It is loose. I have it raised to my forearm. I like it there. I think I will keep it until I return to Los Angeles. I am on foot again. There are two ladies being driven around by a bike taxi. The blonde leaned over the side while laughing at something. She had a hoarse voice. She coughed and then cocked her head back to spit. They both were smoking cigarettes.

It is a nice night. I can smell the sun in my hair. I have reached Brazos Street. I opened the door to the Driskill. It is a beautiful sight! The ground is carpeted. I walked to the washroom, cleaned my hands and wetted my face with cold water. That’s better! I went into the bar. I took a seat. I ordered a drink and sat in silence. It felt good. I was drinking a Coors, why not! It tasted good. It was cold, just what the doctor ordered.

–Tom Brosseau

Photo by Kelly McClean