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About Chisinau

So – I’m cruisin’. Downtown. Neon lights flicker – like a bad trip. Smell o’ weed and desperation. Hits me – BAM. Reminds me o’ that line – “What’s. In. The box?” Only – I ain’t askin’ that. I’m askin’ – “Where’s she at?” Prostitutes, man – they’re ghosts. Slip through cracks – like Shasta Fay. You blink – they’re gone.

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But back to the job. Ion finally shows up, like, an hour late. He’s all flustered, saying he got caught up in some “important business.” Yeah, right. I’m thinking, “Dude, your ‘business’ better be worth my time.” We get to work, and I’m trying to keep my cool. But then, the equipment? It’s all messed up. Like, how do you mess up radio gear? I’m losing it.

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