Not hiring.

[Laurel Booth]

Laurel is turning into me talking to my cats. Lyrics from this song, haha.
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“Warehouses seem to sound like they have the best acoustics,” he said to no one in particular, just the pigeons in the rafters. “Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to, but I just like the way that they sound when you screw around with something you've never played with before.” To that effect, he pushed the accordion together and let it play whatever note came out first. In truth, Laurel had screwed around with an accordion before; he could play it if he tried, but usually he didn't. It wasn't his favourite thing in the world but it had been too hard to pass up when he had been rummaging around in a house somewhere. It was beat up, scuffed and well loved by the looks of it, and now a rotten banjo playing coyote had gotten his hands on it.



“And it's a really doozy to try and play when you're drunk, so many buttons to push!” Which was the point when he had simply set it aside, putting it back in the box he had found it in and had been dragging it around for the past half hour in, looking for a very place like he had. The pigeons in the rafters eyed the strangely dressed coyote, watching him with beady eyes as he lifted his banjo and hastily pulled the strap over his head, fingers finding the strings to play the chords to a song in a much more upbeat way like the tone of his voice in song. “This is the story of your gypsy uncle, you never knew ‘cause he was dead—an’ how his face was carved an’ ripped with wrinkles in the picture in your head.”

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