looking for clayton

major member of the antikult band
Sardines in mustard sauce.

Clayton was a freak of nature. At least most of the people I knew who met him said. We hit it off. We were both down home boys. He was down home small town Ontario, and though Halifax is no small town, my family, the whole lot of 'em, were creekers. Krickers. All from small towns. Small towns in Nova Scotia are just as bad or good, depending on view point. As small town Ontario.

Country. Clayton was country music with skin over him. He played drums in a country band. I can't remember where he played the fiddle. Anywhere he could. He might have even taken it to the woods with him.

He was the kind of a guy that would walk from Brantford to London rather than ask someone to lend him money for the bus.

We fit well together. We both had never met other people who found sardines with mustard sauce a reason for a celebration.

When we weren't attempting to abuse logic, he'd scribble chords out in a little book and tell me to go ahead and play them and he'd fiddle to it. Hits like Orange Blossom Express and I can remember them all.

We played for family and friends.

After college we saw each other once in a while. When I visited another friend in Brantford.

Not Wayne. Or the indian girl.

Clay's a bit like Jimi Hendrix. He understands music. Just not much else what people do. Not 'cause he's stupid. More because he ain't.