Desire

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

The next day was another media day, but at least this time there was no crack-of-dawn radio show on the schedule. I sat in the lobby bar, where my friend Crystal–the bartender from the other night–kept me well hydrated while a parade of rock critics and journalists took their turns with me. If I’d wanted, I could’ve done it at BNC’s offices, but I think it was a lot more fun to sit in the bar where we could see the people going by and a terrific woman brought us drinks than to be stuck in some conference room with stale coffee and no doubt a flock of hovering publicists.

Digger put the schmooze on each one before or after they spoke to me, and steered one or two to Ziggy, who was entertaining in the suite upstairs, from what I heard. It was a little tiring talking to so many people, and answering the same questions again and again, but really not high on the difficulty scale. It seemed to me as we went up the fame scale, the questions got dumber and more repetitive. Or maybe Jonathan had spoiled me.

Or maybe I was just bored.

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