Queen of Corona
I used to hang out get smashed down at this biker bar called Red Rock West. Les and I have each been bounced from there on separate occasions, but that’s another story. This bartender used to work at Red Rock, a tall beautiful lass with a tight bottom and plenty of attitude. When the jukebox would flip over to the Simon and Garfunkel hit she’d balance an open Corona bottle on her pretty little head and I’d stub out my ciggy and clap. A loud woman from Reno was sitting at the bar one night. “You’d make big bucks in Reno if you could suck a dick while doing that,” she yelled. The Reno gal then pulled her shirt off, apropos of nothing. By the end of the night I was seeing double and got up the nerve to ask the bartender for her number. She wagged her finger in my face and scolded, “Don’t go there.” And sometimes when I hear the song I think of her. Goodbye Rosie, or whatevafuck your name was.
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