Running late for a gig. Not the best feeling, despite the whiskey by your side. One guy, who still has not touched his rum is shouting in a language that you don't understand. There are 3 happy dogs roaming around a place that you cannot believe is an office. This is good; Peter Cat Recording Co. Is better. Someone screams to chug. Do it, you tell yourself. But you know you're going to be fucked. Where are you going home to? Screw that. Why are you not in the front row, smiling at that man who will entertain you and make you fall in love with him for the next one and a half hours? You sigh and you sip your drink. There's no way around it.
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