I tried out for a band at Taren Point. All the way there, I was neurotic and hung over and I kept muttering. To you, to the windscreen, to the passing motorists, but mostly to you.
I didn't want to play too loud (on account of the hangover).
What if I sounded too much like everyone else?
What if I sound nothing like everyone else in all the worst possible ways?
"What the fuck are you muttering?"
"I'm just antsy."
"Well stop it. You're shitting me."
"But what if -?"
"Fuck it. Just do the songs. You know the songs. Do the songs. Or do you want to - We can turn back right now, if you like." (This on that rare occasion when you were older brother and me the kid).
"We're almost there. Let's get it over with."
"Then shut up and listen to THIS."
And it'd be A Farewell to Kings or Exit... Stage Left or Tinsel Town Rebellion or One Size Fits All or Head Injuries or Place Without A Postcard.
After the audition, I hopped back in the car. You were one of the most impatient souls I'd ever met but never on those occasions. You were Buddha in those moments.
"How'd it go?"
"The drummer said I destroyed Friday On My Mind. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Is 'destroyed' a compliment these days?"
"Probably not. But fuck it. You came, you gave it all, you left 'em confused. Not bad for a day's effort. Want an ouzo and coke?"
You had an answer for everything.
Like our lives...
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