The groove has gone.  It’s been a month, a long time in rock and roll.  Friends have fell out, families argued, jobs have changed and life has stamped it’s leaden boot over everyone.  The countdown begins, a tradition that might cut short this escape one day.  Johann is agitated, tense probably hungry. There’s a rasp in my voice, I’m lethargic from doing fuck all, all day, every day. I can feel Hyde’s shadow creeping through the axons. I want the bands to be terrible, I want the pressure in my head to burst out of my hands and evaporate the keyboard.  It’s at this point Johann points out we have fifty miles in the tank and the coolant is leaking out, but he has a 16 seater death wagon somewhere, lurking in our near future. 

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