Blunt? Perhaps. But it kinda-sorta feels like a Friday. What does that have to do with anything? Absolutely nothing. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is not getting plastered by a truck when you’re rockin’ out to your beats and struttin’ your stuff through the city. It seems like a day doesn’t pass without some newspaper publicizing how some poor sap get his face reconstructed by a car because he couldn’t hear them coming,...
