I told the promoter I had been robbed and had no gear. Showing up without your gear is a cardinal sin in wrestling. He gave me half my money up front. I went to Wal-Mart. Olive green "athletic" shorts and a black Johnny Cash t-shirt is my ring gear now. I don't know if I've ever heard a Johnny Cash song. Is he the one who sings Country Roads?
A woman who was there but not working the show offered to lend me her boots. I worked barefoot. Like the Wild Samoans. Borrowing boots was too much. The match was terrible. I was terrible. At one point my opponent gave me a hard slap across the face. She was trying to get me to do something. It's a wrestling tradition.
She probably thought I was high. That's a better option than people thinking that I'm just sad. Life is like that. Drug use can be forgiven. Sadness is weakness. Which is odd because not everyone has been on drugs but everyone has been depressed.
I used to conduct business in the car. Since I don't have my charger anymore, I was making calls for bookings backstage where everyone could hear my business. A wrestler called Austin Starr told me he could get me on two shows in Memphis tomorrow and Sunday. Based purely on pity. It made me feel ill.
After the show, I sat in the corner on the floor in the locker room for a long time. They closed the place up without realizing I'm here so I'm just going to sleep here.
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