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Cobb

Cobb turns his back to the crowd and jerks his head for a quick band meeting. “How’s the meter?” he asks.

“The sound guy won’t tell us,” grumbles Lannet.

“Shit!” says Fitzhugh. “Then how are we supposed to know if our concert score is high enough for an encore bonus?”

“We have sort of been playing the easy songs,” Cobb admits.

Love! The! Sound!” the crowd is chanting.

“Maybe we should play ‘Love the Sound?'” says Lannet.

“It is worth infinity points.”

Cobb rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says, “but I’m putting it on Easy and going to get a beer.”

Cobb

Cobb snatches his Strat and dodges behind the old Moog, but Lannet’s not so fast: the white noise knocks him into a stack of amps.

“I wanted an amicable split!” Fitzhugh’s shouting. “You’d still get royalties!”

“I want sheet reprint rights!” Cobb yells back.

“Then you’ll get nothing!” Fitzhugh cuts loose a feedback-heavy C5 into the monitor–or would, if Cobb wasn’t matching it exactly. They cancel.

In the weird silence, Lannet’s bloody hand thrusts out of the amps and grabs his Fender Jazz.

“No!” gasp Cobb and Fitzhugh.

He breaks the knob off at eleven, then pops low E.

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