My Bonnie
(The studio is costing 140 dollars an hour. We’ve been here two days and so far we haven’t recorded a note. The drums are wrong, the ambiance is wrong, the fucking room is WRONG…) After another argument, I leave in a flutter of linen and leather, my hair dampening in the rain as I hail a cab. My hotel is four blocks away, but… Fuckit… I stop the cab at a store on the way. I arrive at your door unannounced. You look surprised. And pretty. I push the flowers and the wine I bought into your...