"You always have," Patrick Koyle yawned. "Okay, let's hear 'em." T-boy put a cd in the player. A cacophony of out-of-tune guitars wailed out of the speakers. "What the ..."
Heavy drumming sounded more like gunshots blasting holes in the walls. "Turn it down." Then the singing. If you could give it that nomenclature. A thousand cats put through a wringer would have been less ... strident. And that was being polite. "Turn it off."
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