We spend a lot of time in parking lots. Sitting on foldout chairs or on the ground, or on instrument cases or beer cases, whatever it may be, we’re usually not to far from pavement. When we kick it with a band it’s not a luxurious experience. I distinctly remember the Lee Gallagher crew sitting cross-legged in this weird little lot on a side street in San Francisco, their merch box on the ground next to them, a pile of most likely human poop about ten feet from that, in the corner of the lot. Eventually the Perfect Hippie put a beach ball on top of it to sheild the crowd, but it was there.

Oh how I hope so very much that some of these dudes or chicks that we hang out with in a parking lot become the next somebody. Because man, that’d be cool. To one day say that you hung out with The Rolling Stones in a parking lot next to a pile of shit and they gave you a bad ass t-shirt from a box. I think we’ve got a shot too. Because generally you don’t start at the top. You start on the ground floor, next to the shit, and if you don’t mind that, and you work real hard, and get just a little bit lucky, your view gets nicer. Then you get to the top and you yell, yup, Hallelujah.

At any rate, I kind of think we’ll always be found of the parking lot scene. The toilets might get nicer, but it might never get more fun than that.