earlier today Joe went to Casbah to meet his old boogie friend from London era, Pépé le Moko. Algiers was as always packed with sheiks, rockers, mescaleros, paperpack writers and other loose head jerks. bad breath Liverpool skiffle band played their psychedelic symphony in the background. Minarets stood still. Mr. Brian was swimming in the pool. Sirocco blew sand allover and the sun had had her last tequila.
- the prophet said that the jets are airborne, said Joe to Pépé.
- no way, that's long gone, it's history, man, Pépé howled thru the symphony.
Joe didn't hear Pépé's words. skiffle band had a break and dj Combat threw 3 chords and plus into sound system. Joe jumped on the ballroom floor for a crazy casbah jive with a slim kosher hawker he'd notice just a chorus before. their pas-de-deux was all sweat and raga.
Pépé was finishing his natural born kisser -cocktail when dj suddenly swopped the song to Mustapha Dance. Place went to bazookas. skiffle band wet their pants, Mr. Brian drowned and tiles went loose from minarets' roofs.
- told ya'!, shouted Joe to Pépé.
- yep, let's rock the casbah then!
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