Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Receipt for gas

Monsters of Folk:  On the Road

Featuring (from left to right) Mike Mogis, M. Ward, Jim James, and Conor Oberst

M:  <staring out of the window while lightly playing an acoustic guitar> Seems like every where I go, the sky is falling.

Mike:  Really?  <genuine surprise and interest>  I haven’t noticed any rain at any of our destinations.  <his speech gaining momentum>  If I had to use one word to describe all of them together, it would be… lovely.  Our tour has been lovely

Jim:  <with authentic curiosity> Do you guys think it is kinda silly that my solo work is billed as Yim Yames?

<no response.  Not even a flinch, as if they had heard the question multiple times before.>

Conor:  <browsing through the tour bus fridge> Is it the destinations that really matter, man?  <his rifling becoming more frantic> The road is beautiful.  The road heals.  The road… <a frustrated clanking coming from the refrigerator> I thought there was more vodka in here. <his eyes not stopping the search in the fridge>

M:  You finished the last of it this morning, man. <staring at the strings on his guitar as if he were speaking to them>

Conor:  <thoughtless reaction>  Shit.  <angry, as if he just heard M’s answer>  SHIT.

M:  Go on… about what you were saying… about the road’s beauty and its healing… <followed by a slight grin>

Mike:  <scrunching up his nose with laughter>

Conor:  <an angry glare>  But that was my shit.  <anger’s fumes fade to innocence>
Who drank it?


M:  You did, man.  <silence and blank stares>  This morning.  Around 3 am.  You said something about the President, chugged the last of the bottle, watched an episode of the Kardashians, and then passed out on the couch.

Conor:  <vaguely remembering>  Shit.  <searching out the tented windows surrounding them>  We’re in the middle of nowhere…

Mike:  <giggles erupting into laughter>  And it is now…

<humor lost on Conor at this moment>

M:  <cool; paternal, even> I’m sure the next truck stop…

Conor:  <not cool; childish, perhaps> That will probably be hours!

M:  Yeah, man…  It is only noon.

Conor:  Shit… Crappy crappy shit…

M:  Man.  <somber and observant> This is, like, as worked up as you get.

Conor:  Fuck off, Mike!

Mike:  <giggling> I didn’t say anything!  <through the laughter>  We will have to stop for gas sometime soon.

<a few minutes pass>

Jim: <quietly, to Conor.  Another authentic question> You were watching the Kardashians?

Conor:  Shut up, Yim.

<friendly laughter surrounds> 

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