. . . or, rap vs rock.
Pardonnez-moi if you're a rap fan. I am not. I suspect there is some measure of talent in composing and recording rap, but it's lost on me. In general, I find the artistic quotient of rap on about the same plane as Serrano's Piss Christ. Belay that. Rap is a level or two lower. I particularly hate the thumping bass and rattling sheet metal on the cars driving by with the amp set on 10.
Bear in mind that this intemperate rant was just to set the parameters of what follows.
Since the gas gauge in my car was bouncing near the "E" level, I pulled into a
Not only did she pull in and stop, she left the car with engine running and music on full and went into the office. I thought about reaching into her car and turning it off. Not worth being arrested for, I decided.
So, while my tank was filling, I sat in my car and turned on the radio. Aha! Creedence Clearwater. Born on the Bayou. I lowered my windows and cranked it to 10 just as she walked back to her car. Parry and riposte. Bose trumps Toyota every time.
Juvenile? Maybe. But didn't I mention that I really hate rap?