This makes me want to scream. In a good way.
Dear Senor Moz,
When I come to see you this time, I will make sure that I'm closer to the stage. I will also make sure to have my friend Zohra with me again because last time, at the Apollo, we were seated behind these two dudes who couldn't stop talking to each other about what? I don't know, maybe their new duplex in Murray Hill? Anyway, it was totally rude to us and completely rude to you. I mean, why even go to a concert if you're going to carry on a loud conversation the whole time, right? Doesn't that strain your vocal cords? Isn't it kind of a romance killer? Also, after I asked them, politely, to please take a convo breather so I could see the stage as well as you, they said "Sure!" and then kept on talking. At this point, I said to myself, in my head, "Please, please, please, let me, let me, let me, let me get what I want this time."
That, Moz, is when Zohra stepped in. Let me tell you, she was wearing an ink black tank top and a skirt that stopped above her mid-thigh. She was also wearing glossy red stilettos and an "I Will Cut You" face. Well, she'd reached her limit (and my wussy politeness is just not how she rolls), so she grabbed one arm on each guy and very firmly said, "SHUT. UP." And they did. And you were even more awesome from that point forward because I could see you and hear you better. Then, you took your shirt off, and they started talking again.
Can't wait to seeee yooouuu! Also, can I just say bravo on FINALLY playing a show in El Paso? We love you over there.
Your Hatful of Hollow,
A
