Spinning Up Some Noise

That lemon mist finally wore off, and the silence in this place was grating on my nerves worse than a bad tip. Remembered that Siamese Dream CD I ripped open yesterday, still sitting bare on the floor by the black milk crate. I hauled the shiny disc across the rug like a silver manhole cover, dragging it right over to the low stereo shelf. The power button was just a fat rubber nub near my head. I leaned all my weight against it until a dim green light flickered on and the motorized tray groaned open like an old tavern door. Shoved the disc onto the spindle with a loud plastic click. Now we just wait for the loud stuff.