The night was humid. But under that dark exterior was a luminary that was as cool as it was bright. It cut through the balmy dusk like a blade, weaved slightly, and cut some more. And it was these very cuts, embedded deep in the soul, that evoked a howl audible for miles in every direction. From this tragic lamentation came a query oft-repeated: why why why? And where? Where is the love? Why must I? Why is everything spinning? Why is the road lonesome? Was it for the best? Have a drink in the alley, but don't cry on a Saturday. We push farther on and we play you a song.