As I button up my 501's, and pushing Veronica towards the door, we both escape the b o y s room—but not without an audience. “Goddamm Matthew—wh...'s holding up the fuckin elevator? And who's these punks you got guarding the door”?“Off to class everybody—and mind ur fuckin business” I tell the two 'guards' to come on, I would walk them to class. We arrive at Miss Stevens class, and I tap on the door as I open it. I explain that the b o y s were with me—they were helping me out with some football. " Sorry to hear that," she seemed genuinely sympathetic, "any kids?" Three, you?" Just the one. She's doing film at UCLA." Like Jim Morrison?" Yeah, and Coppola. Name's Aimee after Aimee Mann. Not my idea." Whose then?" Her Father. He produced our records back in the Toolbox days. Hooked up with some wannabe actress half his age now." Good for him," Ron said ruefully."Aw, he's alright. We're still good friends. Couldn't cut it as a couple, too much ego in there I think." Uh ha. I guess all that. More

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