I try to work out if the Vodka Girls are on a different tier from the Beer Ladies. Their attire seems about the same, although I'm not wearing sun-shades this time. I can hear Jeff Mangum's voice and the chair scrape that is really a guitar being unplugged. Yusef may think his map covers my whole mind, but I know India's eye-needle forcefulness can control the sun.
Maybe the tight bassline trails the backbeat in the Lucky Strike smoke, but I'm remembering that thigh squeak on the car bonnet whilst she was telling me about the shotgun. It's magnet abuse whilst they teach me to palm the apricots and avocados, but I'll use the beer can ice fragments to cool me in this desert.
This may not be exactly the blue eyed boy bait, but it's close enough without advertising.
