Then there was the time I went to Houston with Bryn.   Because neuroethics.   Houston moves.

Boots were sold everywhere, and we lived in a hostel.  It was nice; the art was bad.  Free cereal patiently sat in Tupperwares.  The wi-fi password was “peanut butter.”  Dorm students were always cleaning the place up.

We found the goth club of our teenage dreams and got drunk.  I nearly blew $14,000 on an eBay bid for Ian Curtis’ kitchen table from my Droid after Bryn told me it was for sale.  But I didn’t.  I already have a table.   The next morning, I coughed out sushi in the street.  Jerry Only told us we were his children in a boat that stunk of oysters.

Bryn spoke to the University of Texas about Alzheimers, but by then I was in a Los Angeles Lyft.  It was all worth it.  They play lots of goth music in Houston.

“I feel much more comfortable with the bass in my hand while I sing; that’s why I don’t have to do any dancing around. I’m not a dancing-around type of guy.”  – Jerry Only