(no subject)
The distinct scents of piss and stale cigarette smoke linger in the stagnant air. Strings break. Curses are uttered. Heads rip open like they're made of paper. Screaming penetrates the eardrums. Hands slip. Threats are yelled...then laughed at. Oh, the joys of band practice. I think Gas was fired a total of 17 times at practice, but none of them were serious for once. I think all the bullshit we suffered with the last tour (i.e., almost breaking up) has actually helped us grow as a band. We're playing the music that we want to play the way we like it. We've actually got a pretty solid lineup in the band, so things are looking good. The clock's ticking down to insanity that will start soon. T-minus 14 days and counting.