4/12/06

I rang up Frey and arranged to meet him for a coffee. We had half an hour till Grace picked me up. From Toll Street we walked through the market towards Vincent’s. A maze of hippies selling shit. People walking so slowly you just want to throw a tantrum. Sometimes Frey does just that at practice, except his tantrums are silent. I order two short blacks in the same cup. Frey doesn’t know. He just wants a coffee. I grab a chair and we go outside. We get talking, but mostly he just listens. Frey is serious most of the time. He just wants to be Frey. I got my work cut out.

Fuck surf music, I say.
Did I say that?
Fuck the instrument changes.
I did.
Fuck the bitches of Avalon.
Frey can now run practices.
We’ll all be good boys.

It’s not possible to impress this bloke.
He’s only sixteen.
I can see where this is heading.
Silence impresses most.
And I’m a beast of noise.

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