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“Who gets to ride in back?”

After an awkward conversation we finally settled on the only mature way for grown men to solve a disagreement… rock, paper, scissors.

Our bassist and fiddle player lost bad.

So we stuffed our fiddle player in the truck's trunk and took off.

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I felt something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

It was inspiration.

It was hope.

It was excitement for a new musical genre. It was exactly what I had been searching for! My musical life had been saved thanks to that snare drum.

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