Close your eyes and think of the stereotypical guy who would play The Eagles at full volume in his beat up Toyota Corolla.
That's right, our African-American Boston taxi driver was a massive fan. Even after we jumped in the cab for the airport, he continued to play Hotel California turned up to 11.
Every time I get annoyed with Glenn Frey for rhyming wine, with 1969 ... wine's not a spirit you douchetard ... I try to distract myself with something amusing.
Today it was this pink haired goth on a bicycle. You don't usually pair shoe-gazing suicide-girls with healthy outdoor pursuits, but this chick was rocking her two wheels.
Maybe she was about to bike off the road into the Charles River.
If the radio was playing an Eagles "three-for", I might have joined her.