Cadillac Couches Read Online Free PDF

“Not at all? You never play?”
    â€œMusic?” Isobel asked, arching an eyebrow coquettishly.
    Oh God help us. This was nauseating. I looked over at Finn, he winked. He was squirming too. I looked over to where I’d last seen the Coordinator Girl. She’d moved. She could be anywhere.
    â€œOh ya, I play,” Isobel replied.
    â€œWell okay then, gotta play!” Dan smirked and took a gulp of beer.
    Disgusting—they were raunchy flirters.
    Being a journalist is a cinch, I thought for a fleeting second, but then the Coordinator Girl came back into my range of vision. But she was smooching the security guy! Like full-on power necking. Maybe we were off the hook. I stopped holding my breath.
    â€œEnough of all this heavy talk. Now, seriously, tell me what level of hedonism are we talking about on tour?” Finn asked.
    â€œHow hard do I party, is that what you are asking?” Dan laughed.
    â€œLike on a scale of one to ten, one being Cliff Richard and ten being Keith Richards, who I heard gets his whole blood supply replaced every now and then so he can survive his debauchery,” Finn explained.
    â€œI . . . well . . . I guess I’d be around a five . . . maybe seven. You know it’s hard work, touring, you gotta be healthy. You can’t just be a drunken bum like people think. Not at my humble level of success anyway. When you get to be mega big, then maybe you can have people schlepp you around. Fly you in and out of cities. You can be wasted if you’re flying first class and staying at like the Schmilton or whatever. But me, I gotta get myself places. So that means mostly being straight,” Dan said, helping himself to the beer.
    â€œWell, I think the formal part of our interview is done. Do you want to hang out and have beers? I could get another pitcher,” Finn offered.
    â€œThat’d be thoughtful,” Dan accepted.
    Finn went on a beer run, and I took some photos of Dan by himself and then some with Isobel, who took advantage of the situation by posing with her arm thrown casually around his neck.
    â€œHey, let me wear some of those goofy sunglasses you’ve all got. What’s up with them anyway, makes y’all look like you’re in a cult,” Dan said.
    I gave him my glasses even though they were holding my hair in place. He slid them on. They didn’t look too bad on him.
    â€œThese glasses smell like beer. What did you do, stick your head in a keg?” Dan and Isobel laughed. I tried to imagine I was delightful like Annie Hall: sexy goofy. Finn came back from the booze run with beer and armfuls of green onion cakes.
    I loved green onion cakes. They were like pancakes with onions. Greasy dough with a savoury flavour. My teeth sank in to the sticky dough, oil seeped into my mouth. All of it triggering the happy chemicals in my brain.
    Then Finn launched one of his classic Finnisms: “So when you’re touring in foreign countries, is it a truer you that you present to people, or just another mythology . . . I mean, that’s what everyone does, we create myths around ourselves and then when we go travelling . . . we can totally reinvent ourselves, make up new myths, d’ya know what I mean?”
    â€œI don’t think those myths are wrong though . . .” Dan somehow clicked with Finn’s babbling.
    â€œNo, man, they’re not wrong, you gotta have ’em, you gotta live, you gotta get through the day.”
    In my mind I screamed to Finn, “ NOW’S NOT THE TIME TO REVEAL OUR JOURNALISM MYTH, DON’T DO IT, HE’S NOT READY !”
    â€œEven beyond getting through the day, I mean, I think . . . I think those myths are real,” Dan repeated.
    â€œThey have to be . . .” Finn agreed with beery passion. I think Finn clung to a lot of personal myths. Like he was destined to be Canada’s