Sometimes the world looks perfect,
Nothing to rearrange.
Sometimes you just...get a feelin'
Like you need some kinda change....
The scene: An apartment in Davie, Florida.
You say somethin', buddy?
I know somethin's wrong.
Right. You always do this. You come home clearly upset, you don't say a word, you do that whole 'nothing phases me' routine bullshit when it's clearly evident that Joey Porter took a dump in your helmet and made you wear it. Again.
Nah. Nothing like that.
So, uhhh...wanna grab pizza?
/ looks down, shifts eyes around nervously
Wanna ummm go try and hit on some chicks? Maybe bring them back here?
Anything on your mind? Anything you want to discuss? Politics, world events, tits, getting fucked up, college, childhood memories, jack o'lanterns, horseshit, turnstiles, poutpourri, Megatron, groceries, rocket launchers, dipthongs, sudoku, carpeting, Riff-Raff, Hector, Woodsworth, Mungo, coaxial cables, metatarsals, glockenspiels, aqueducts, horticulture, ethanol, flin flarn, flizzum flaze, bag pipes, penile piercing? Anything?
Yea, me neither. Wanna just sit here at stare at the wall until we have to play again Sunday?
Ummmm...ok. Hey. Who's that guy?
/begins playing eloquent jazz sax
Oh, that's just Brandon Fields. Renowned studio musician and leader of
Weird. He has my name.
I know. Let's just keep looking at the wall, ok?