I’m on the bed staring at the ceiling when Blayne says the Cranberries’ Zombie uses the same chords as the Pumpkins’ Disarm.
I think he does, anyway. It’s hard to hear after fuck-if-I-know-how-many shots of whatever we’re drinking.
“Play it for us, then, Mister Guitar Wizard.”
I hear Blayne open his case. I hear him puke. I hear a hollow, splashy sound.
“Fu…