September 13, 2005:
Long-haired man, small, strong, vibrant gecko tattoo climbing one arm. Paces the studio floor from mixing desk to windows, fuming.
"I'm never going there again," he vows, all but spitting. "All they did was talk shit about you all evening."
Tall man, indeterminate age, maybe 30, maybe younger. Sad-faced, maybe a little ashen, creases visible on his worried-looking forehead, as though waiting for a spasm of pain he knows will come.
Long-haired man continues, "You know what they said? They said — "
Tall man raises one hand. Says nothing, but the look is eloquent. No, no, please. I don't want to hear that.
Long-haired man understands. 'Nuff said.
All the rest of his life he keeps his promise.