(via Beat) by Walter Rhein
I knew something was wrong from the moment he spoke. In fact, there had been a lingering wrongness for some time.
“C’mon son, let’s go on a trip,” Dad said.
He’d just taken my brother on a trip, and my sister. Now it was my turn. This struck me as unusual behavior, but what choice did I have in the matter?
“Okay,” I said, and we got on a plane and got off in Maine where we rented a car.
“What should we do?” Dad said as he started to drive. He fiddled with the radio. But before I could answer, he slammed his hands against the dashboard. “There’s no good radio stations in this state. Let’s go get a cassette.”
He started driving around looking for a record store. Dad was always a fanatic about music. He had a whole room dedicated to vinyl records. When CDs came out he had to replace them all. I don’t know what he does now, maybe he’s got a mainframe in his basement.
We found a little hole-in-the-wall place that claimed to be a record store even though it only had a selection of about thirteen cassettes. Dad looked through them, his face tight with fury. He could be scary when he got angry. I began to grow concerned, but the darkness cleared and he brightened up.
“Here we go, Warren Zevon!”
Read more: https://vocal.media/beat/behind-warren-zevon-s-the-hula-hula-boys
Every Moment Has A Song 