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?
<silence>
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>
