That party we crashed was not for the weak-hearted or weak-willed—Lordy—it took everything we had in our pouch or seemed to. Our brains were frogs in a lab test and we couldn’t stop giggling at the horror cutting into the music or at least the agency you might call it. Someone called the FBI or DEA and we retched on cue which, as you know, can become contagious—an exploding party, all that music on a summer night with no one conducting. And the paddy wagons all lined up, so we whooped on outta there, not avoiding the heart and began working on our love songs and other collaborations.