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I Partied with the Keyboard Player for Judas Priest — Lessons in Life
A hot summer day poolside at the Jones twin’s house. No parental units within miles, we lounged, played music at peak volume. As the sun set beyond the hillside, shadows marching down the dry brittle brown slope, we decided to nominate a few to go buy beer. I was part of the mission. A few miles down the main road through town, the Village Center was the congregation point for locals to confer about evening plans.
We encountered some friends, invited them to the Jones’ house. One of the invited asked if he could bring a couple new friends if they brought more beer. The answer was yes. Alcohol was our alternative currency. A request to tag along was often met with scrutiny. Announcing you were bringing booze was your passport. When we arrived at the Jones house, the party had swelled from the 5 of us, to 15. One of the attendees no one knew. A friend and I curiously greeted the fellow who looked out of place. He had long, shaggy blonde hair, and looked almost old enough to be one of our parents.
We asked him who he knew at the party. He said he met a couple of the people at the grocery store and he jumped in the car when they told him they were heading to a house party. We asked if he was invited. He didn’t give a straight answer. We asked around who knew the guy. No one affirmed knowing the…
