"There’s no such thing as a bad idea,"he said, and downed his sixteenth drink.The afternoon sun was in the yard and all I could smell was burnt meat and fresh beer.
I didn’t leave my bedroom for a month. All I had was my guitar, a copy of The World of Primates and some grapes. My skin went orange and it was as if I was living in television static, like actually in it.
While laying slackly in a pile of old slacks, I listened to Dick Diver and felt quite alright.
Guards are out in your garage, doing acid and transmogrifying your old soul records.