--- D A N I E L   N E S T E R

A culmination of Roger’s project, with a Churchill twist. Used to make me wet, used to
make me want to snap snap snap. You know that we can tell when there’s real and faux
clarinets, and when there isn’t. People get mad.

Tuneless in L.A., token swan song--forced or unbeknownst--cigarette-flat notes all over
the place. They see those empty seats for the first time, scared shitless, thinking of home,
of glorious home. Sing about Fat Bottoms, go home.

Wearing white leather pants through all of this, and still not smiling.


					from Hot Space