SUBURBIA
We had no f*****g guitarists.
Riot Fest was two weeks away and we had no f*****g guitarists.
Jojo and I were loading equipment into the Gray Area, trying to transform the derelict warehouse into someplace we could rehearse. I heaved the final road case into a corner while she worked to decompress her full drum kit from its various bags and trunks. Nearly a third of the rehearsal space was now given over to a massive array of drums, cymbals, stands, pedals, sticks, thrones, and miscellaneous percussion items including, but not limited to, a woodblock, a piece of slate shingle, a set of fantasy chimes, a jar of pennies, and a trash can lid.
Jojo opened one of the larger drum cases and was bombarded with an avalanche of t-shirts. “What the—omigod, GOREY!” she swore.
“What’d he d
