A text from Luke: “I’m running late. Traffic.” I’m sympathetic, he’s driving from Staten Island. He arrives. He leans back in his chair, holding his chin in his hand, a large golden ring visible from under his jaw. He plays us the original Little Joe, by The Gay Blades. Today he’s redoing the vocals. Use the original live one, I try to convince him — the one he sang into Nick’s mic while the whole band played the song. They never play it the same way twice. There are at least eight Little Joes selling candy kisses, making eyes at girls on some street in Staten Island, big sisters looking out the windows of row houses. Luke climbs up into the loft with a cup of water, and does the vocals. OK, fine, I have to confess, he’s on his shit today, we gotta use this one.