Drink sangria in the park

I only have two coworkers. And as I work in a series of caves and tanks connected to a warehouse and the outdoors, we all three spend a lot of time alone, not talking to each other, doing what we do, what we were born to do, what we will die doing. So we listen to a lot of music.

It's always either my music or my boss, John's, music, because we both really like music. He listens to a lot of weird music. I listen to a lot of weird music. Together, we cover quite a nice spectrum of Kronos Quartet and Pavement and Hungarian folk music. Sometimes we even listen to Hall & Oates. Once or twice its been Jackson Five.

Today, though, was a new day. For as I was doing what I do, what I was born to do, what I will die doing, I saw John queing up the boombox, pulling out the old CD and replacing it with something new from the case. And as he came over to me, he said, "I've never heard this one before, but it's in your case, and it's a 'Greatest Hits' CD." "Whose?" I said. "Death Row," he said.

"I should warn you," I said, "that if anybody comes down here, you'll have to turn it off, because this is the most offensive CD we've ever played, as far as lyrics are concerned, not to say anything one way or the other about the quality." "Oh?" John said, and he stood by the boombox with his eyes closed and listened to the first three tracks, by Snoop, Dre, and Snoop, respectively. Then he went back to work, saying nothing more all day. Today was a new day.