Miek was trying to be quintessentially daring at the keys but it made him sound mostly like Y his cat crawling over the keys when we blast rehearsals far into the night at his campus crib. The writer was right in front and the man didn't move a motion, jotting in his little ruled pad about what we were fucking up. See, we'd made this pact a while back. We were playing only songs we haven't written, and as we've written a couple hundred songs, it's difficult to find ones that aren't ours. I have visions on the playing field.
People think absolute concentration absolutely.
Well, I think about the women there and raccoons and speedbumps and the tickets I have from the previous week. I forgot the tape recorder, like we like to capture some live stuff and shit for networking bands, but there was a compliment escaping to the air. The ugliest fucking CD cover in color you've ever seen, but it was smart because all the groupies would see it. The leader stood right out. The look I got made me wonder what dark side of what planet these musicians were homesick from.