I thought his mere presence would be enough to kill me. He like, gives off heat he is so intense. I kept expecting him to punch me or something... not out of anger, but just shear intensity.
Whatever money I made at Flatstock went directly to my right at Ballard's table. After my hangover went away, I spent most of the afternoon hanging all this shit up in my house. Motherfucker knows how to make a rock poster.
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