There were lots of noises more irritating than a teenaged girl learning how to play a flute. Like anything by Whitney Houston. Still, she'd either figured out volume or didn't have the lung capacity for eardrum rupture, so a set of headphones would drown her out.
He claimed a couch and a Walkman and something with spiky letters and a half-naked girl with big tits and bigger hair, which looked promising. Except that either classical musicians had finally realized it was the twentieth -- or twenty-first -- century, and that sex could sell string quartets as well as it sold hack guitarists with three power chords to their name and a pretty face.
Whatever. He pulled out the headphones and started flipping through the albums. If he actually cared about music, he could have charted the fashion against the occurrence of certain key songwriting phrases, like love and ass and power and come up with a unified theory of the next two decades in America. But that sounded like work, and not his field. Instead he just flipped through them, looking for something that would blow his mind out of this place for a few minutes.
no subject
He claimed a couch and a Walkman and something with spiky letters and a half-naked girl with big tits and bigger hair, which looked promising. Except that either classical musicians had finally realized it was the twentieth -- or twenty-first -- century, and that sex could sell string quartets as well as it sold hack guitarists with three power chords to their name and a pretty face.
Whatever. He pulled out the headphones and started flipping through the albums. If he actually cared about music, he could have charted the fashion against the occurrence of certain key songwriting phrases, like love and ass and power and come up with a unified theory of the next two decades in America. But that sounded like work, and not his field. Instead he just flipped through them, looking for something that would blow his mind out of this place for a few minutes.
[free!]