Bud was talking too much. He’s always talking too fucking much. He was off on arpeggios. He’d been up all night smoking pot and practicing arpeggios on his acoustic guitar. He started recording them on his midi and stacking them together until at some point all the broken chords coalesced into a solid sound… “a sort of magnificent white tone,” he called it, but that’s not really important. The thing was that Bud was talking too much and too loud and we were walking by beautiful Brooklyn mothers with their precious, or at least expensive kids and the way Bud kept screaming, “ARPEGGIO! Arpeggio!” must have sounded filthy coming from his manic mouth. The ladies covered their kid’s ears with mittens and I said, “You can’t say arpeggio like that in public. You’re freaking people out.”
“What?” bud asked. “Doesn’t anyone study music anymore?”
“Sure,” I said. “But does it have to be so loud?”
He was quiet untill he said, “You sound like a mother.”
