![]() I like it.” I sensed a ‘but’…and I was right. “I want to add this one.”Ī thick sigh made his nostrils flare. I pulled up a leather swivel chair in front of the mixing boards, took a seat. We’re almost finished,” he said, running a tanned hand through his choppy black hair. He looked down at the pages, confused, eyes flitting between me and the lyrics. ![]() ![]() Got a melody worked up already but it could do with some tweaking.” He smacked it with a palm, stopped it from falling, while I said, “I wanna work on this. “As always.” I pulled away before shoving my open notebook into his chest. With time, effort, and a hell of a lot of observation, my social skills had improved with age, yet they remained a conscious endeavour. I returned the gesture, clapped his back, too. I’d found it unnerving the first time it’d happened, hadn’t been sure how to respond, but it happened so regularly now I’d come to expect it. ![]() Upon seeing me, Marcel - a good man and the producer of this album - grabbed my hand, pulled me into him, and clapped my back a few times. I strode into the studio the next day with purpose, stride long, heels bouncy on the cushioned floor. ![]()
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