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90 • cooling board a long-playing poem I was talking to myself the other night...to yourself? Do you know how that sounds? Everybody left me in the studio, gave me some peace, bought a little time to work on what Roberta wanted. Roberta? What about what you want? How’s that for peace? I forgot how quiet the booth can be when you control the boards, each track an album of its own. Are you for real? This how you deal with getting pushed around? Stand up, Donny. Backbone son, backbone. I stood up from the bench for a second…OK…looked through the glass…all right… saw me looking back, laughed, said Donny, you a sad somebody. Got that right. Once I said it, the words wouldn’t leave, they just hung around, like songs that are better in your head than on the radio. What are you saying? What’s better than a song on the radio? Can’t nobody hear what’s in your head? Exactly. ...

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