So bored. Grey skies. Cold morning in the studio. This ain't the summer of love. Coffee. Almost out of tobacco. Well, then I know what today's mission will be. I tell you, it is cold down here, where's the fuckin' summer? Thinkin' of something Sartre wrote. Don't know what to do today, hope someone will call me. No money, no home, no lover, fuck!!! Well, at least I still got some coffee and tobacco, I can sit here smoking cigarettes and doin' nothin'. This is no life...

And now it's raining...