Freddie

And it came to pass that there was a gig, and I was a sideman, and my eyes were glazed, and my hair unkempt, my jobbing toga wrinkled, and the lenses before my eyes were as thick as bottles of mulled wine. Yet I could read the scrolls, and I could play the songs of their people, and I knew even of the harmony of the ancients and of the rhythms of far-off lands. And the gig was beyond several mighty bridges, in a city that was nearly an island, surrounded on three sides by vile salt water, and cursed with endless hills, and rich merchants, and vagrants, and we did arrive in the tiny village of Castro, to the tavern. And there were no maidens, even no serving wenches at the bar, but only men, and verily they did dance with one another as a man would dance with a woman. And there came an interval in the performance. And I did approach the bar to sit and rest a while with my ale, yet it was crowded and many were the dancers who did bump into me while they cavorted, and a delicate youth of fair skin and neat cloth did offer to push my stool in.