WE ONLY HAVE one rule for road trips: neither of us gets more time playing their music than the other.
Fredéric floated the idea once we’d been together for about a year. I was absolutely furious when he suggested it, and I swore at him. As far as I was concerned, it was my car and I did all the driving anyway, so it was only fair that we listened to Green Day and Billy Talent and the Offspring. But he dug his heels in until he finally got his way. These days, our music is meted out in controlled, equal doses, like hits of morphine: twenty punk rock songs for me, twenty dance-pop songs for him. The cycle repeats until we arrive at our destination.
Sometimes I sneak in a nine-minute song, like ‘Jesus of Suburbia’, just to stretch my time... Read more
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