Take The Skinheads Bowling

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

We arrived in Boston to a heavy drizzle and I wished I had a warmer coat with me. It had been late summer last week and now it was seacoast New England autumn. Watt met us at the airport with his hatchback and Christian retrieved his van from the long term parking lot. None of our gear came back with us, not even the Ovation. We’d sent it all to Chicago in trucks with MNB’s stuff. Watt joked around with us in baggage claim and told us he’d take us all to Chinatown if we were up for it. We were.

I rode with him while the others went with Christian. The windshield wipers tried vainly to keep the heavy mist clear. Watt cursed and hit the accelerator like a true Massachusetts driver and we slipped into the toll lane furthest over. “The weather’s been like this ever since you left.” We crept up to the toll booth–Watt asked for a receipt.

“It’s getting cold in the Northwest, too.” I clutched the edges of my sleeves and blew on my damp fingers. “One of these days I’ll learn to pack.”

Watt drummed his fingers a little on the steering wheel but the radio faded as we sped into the tunnel. I sensed the conversation had reached that point, as it always did with anyone connected with the industry, where the chit-chatty part was over. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked.

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