M's car (aka the shrimp barge) is in severe disrepair. The cabin frame creaks and groans loudly through turns intensifying the feeling of vertigo when m guns it around a corner to beat a red light. Reach top speed on rainy Route 63 and there is the faint acrid smell of something burning. Scan rests on the oldies station. 'This Diamond Ring' wrapped in smooth static pours from the lone functioning speaker. The car is disintegrating. The signs of decay are everywhere. This is the ride to T's for a reunion with the old band. In T's cramped cellar where it all began. With the 5-foot ceilings and the timbers, bricks and ductwork. 100 year-old newspapers are stuffed into the walls for insullation. Wires are run from microphones into tape recorders and from guitars to warm humming amplifiers. Smoke&coughs. The meters wiggle to life and the music begins as ever. And earlier the same day, a long email exchange with a man named Gianluca drew to a close. An offer was ultimately turned down. A CD and a 5 month tour of Europe. If it were 10 years ago, it'd be a dream come true. Today, it only makes us feel old and trapped. We play into the morning, in our cellar beneath the cobbled streets of Prague. T's wife returns tomorrow with the kids. We'll need to clean up before we go.