Clear blue sky, cold snow crisp under hoof. The mountains are endless. Over the hollow KROCK! of two rams clashing curly horns together, the bearded man says to the little boy:
"Look, Lil Romeo, can you see the tree?"
"I can't see anything," the little boy replies.
"You can't? Alright, wait. You see that cliff right there? Look over by that tree."
"No, Dad, I don't see anything."
"Well, look again, harder! Do you see what's under the tree?"
"No."
"There! See? Do you see the tree? Can you see what's under it?"
"Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Tigers."
The smaller ram retires, defeated. The larger ram celebrates by shaking its head. The lesser male will not find his mate this season. A long spring of barren hillsides will be his only prize—such is Nature's iron law.
"No, it's not tigers, you little—useless! It's a band. We Are Wolves. See the wee lad on the organotronic bass, so mod! Check out those drums, that synth! Like their lowland brothers, Les Georges Leningrad, these wild no-wave Québécois are just too shy to venture very far from the woods without their drum-machines. Listen to the harsh vocals. Look how they wrap their claws around the microphone as if it was a tasty steak, how the lyrics nearly stick in their crooked jaws. This is good music, son. It's harsh strong stuff, but that's how it is in the wild, sometimes."
"Can we go home now, Dad?"
"Quiet, Lil Romeo."
Reading: Within An Inch Of His Life + Émile Gaboriau
Listening: "L.L. Romeo" + We Are Wolves
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