“Yeah, we need to research how much bubble solution those cannons hold and stock up accordingly,” I suggested. “The last thing we want to do is run out of ammunition in the middle of the war.”
It was going to be crazy, epic, and downright amazing. Dash was right; it would be one hell of a farewell for Ozzy too.
“I can’t believe this is the end of an era for us,” Dash said as he glanced over at the studio door.
“It’s surreal,” Johnny said. “On one hand, the band will keep truckin’ on, business as usual, but Ozzy’s always been the heart of the band. I’m going to miss him tossing random-ass comments into the middle of conversations.”
“I’m gonna miss hitting him up in the middle of the night for help with whatever stupid shit I’ve gotten myself into,” I admitted. “Or advice. It was always better to just go to him before something ridiculous happened.”
“We’ve had our share of it, haven’t we?” Johnny mused. “Man, remember the night we lost the van keys in that waterpark in Virginia? Or at least, I think it was Virginia. Around Williamsburg somewhere.”
Dash chuckled. “Who could forget? That’s exactly where we were too. Williamsburg. I don’t know what possessed me to stick the key in the pocket of my board shorts instead of leaving it in my jeans.”
“Because someone made the brilliant argument that if we got a locker, one of us would still have to put the locker key in their swim shorts, so what was the point?” I reminded him.
“I’m willing to bet they have master keys for their lockers,” Dash mutters. “The van, not so much.”
“Putting a new starter and ignition in that thing was a bitch,” I grumbled.
“You’ve still never explained how you knew how to hotwire it,” Dash pointed out.
“You know how everyone has that one friend who’s just one misadventure away from getting everybody arrested?” I asked.
“You were that friend, weren’t you?” Dash said.
“Naa,” Johnny said, leaping to my defense; out of all our bandmates, he was the one I’d known the longest. “It was always Louie.”
“The same Louie that didn’t tape the wires after putting in a new CD player and wound up with sparks landing in their lap in the middle of a road trip?” Dash asked, having been privy tosome of our Louie stories over the years.
“That would be the one,” I said.
“Rebel was a major shitshow magnet back then,” Johnny pointed out.
“Here’s hoping Knightly was the last,” I said. “I’m more than ready to leave all that bullshit behind me.”
Dash chuckled. “Every time you talk about Louie, I think about my friend Mitchell. If he could dig himself a bigger hole trying to get out of a small one, he would.”
“Is he the one that hauled a junker car home filled with bees?” I asked.
“That’s the one,” Dash grumbled.
It was nice to kick back and just shoot the shit now that the first song was in the bag. The tone had been set for the session. What better way than reminiscing about the moments that shaped us to keep us in the right mindset to record an album driven by memories and dreams?
“He’s also the one responsible for the scar on my calf,” Dash explained.
“I thought you said it was a moped accident?” I asked.
Chuckling, he just shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “It was. Who do you think was driving?”
“Damn,” Johnny replied, letting out a long whistle.
“Talk about a comedy of errors from beginning to end,” Dash said. “When he said he’d just gotten it, I should have asked if he actually knew how to ride one, but no, my dumbass just hopped on the back, and off we went. It was fine as long as he stayed on side streets. The moment he turned onto the Ave, we were fucked.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“A car pulled out in front of us, and he barely stopped in time,” Dash explained. “At that point, I wanted to get off, but the car behind us started honking, so Mitchell took off again, and we made it three blocks before he decided to weave around someone who was parallel parking, and their front end hit our wheel, and we slid.”
“Why do people do that shit?” Johnny moaned, "Like, you seriously can’t wait thirty extra seconds for somebody to park.”