“You know, the volume knob on the radio turns by itself when you change the volume with the steering wheel controls.”
Anything to break the silence. They didn’t exactly have multitudes in common, just a few mutual friends who had volunteered them both to go out and acquire cold beverages of the alcoholic variety.
“You know, the original mix of this song had the vocals heavily biased to the right speakers on purpose,” mentioned the previously silent passenger. A few clicks on the steering wheel by the driver turned the volume button on the radio and it was verified that yes, indeed, this was the original mix of The Who’s “Eminence Front.”
“You know,” added the driver, “it was mixed that way as requested by Pete Townshend to imitate his best impression of a cocaine trip. This is actually Townshend singing, not Roger Daltrey.” The music continued, much more voluminously from the passenger speakers.
“You know,” said the passenger, pointing at the Buick’s stereo faceplate, “my mother’s Bonneville SSEi had the same factory Monsoon sound system.” Pete Townshend continued his melodic wail from the rightmost speakers.
“You know,” followed the driver, “those Pontiacs had the same supercharged V-6 as this Buick.” A quick jab at the accelerator revealed the faintest whisper of a whining supercharger.
Before too much longer, the white and gold sedan pulled into the parking lot of the chosen liquor store.
“What should we get anyway?” asked the passenger.
“Coors,” they uttered simultaneously. They both knew it was a dumb question. They walked into the liquor store, its lone occupants save for the man at the counter who immediately inquired about what they were in for.
“Coors,” they answered, again in unison. It was always Coors.
“Fresh out,” replied the man at the counter. “We do have Coors Light or Budweiser though.”
That would never work. Decidedly, it absolutely had to be Coors.
The pair hurried out of the now useless liquor store, and a quick search of both of their collective beer-locating memories revealed the next one, just two more miles away. For some reason, both driver and passenger found it easier to get into the car with the other this time, though neither would admit it.
Headlights lit up the road ahead, a new song playing over the radio.
“You know…”
Burnt Clutches 