Another Philadelphia Story: SOULCRACKER
Because we were in Philly, and because Johnny the manager knows what is up, he suggested we go get cheesesteaks in South Philly. We piled into two cabs and made it there in moments. Bob said he was going to let Sutton order a steak, then steal it and eat it. "He won't even know what happened." Classic Bob. Sutton peed behind an SUV, then stumbled up to Geno's and got himself a cheesesteak. Ramsey and Julie and I abstained. Bob hovered by Sutton, waiting for him to stop chewing or lose interest, and it just didn't happen. As Sutton weaved towards the fixings bar, looking elfin in his long army shorts (short army pants? I never can tell) and scuffed combat boots, I said, "Poor Sutton." Bob was incredulous. "Poor Sutton? Poor Sutton!?" The sound guy made a hilarious play for a blonde in a car, who continued to eat her cheese fries disdainfully and shot him down. Ouch! But hey, all in a night's work for a band on the road.
And so I left them, drunk, chowing down, and, in the case of the sound guy, getting shot down. I walked home along 9th Street, where Rocky ran and vegetables are hawked by vendors. Philly, SOULCRACKER will be back. Will you be ready? I mean, "care"?