I swear, I seen 'em, Jim! Big ol' flying guitars goin' round and round Halifax International! First, I thought it was just the Halifax-Boston route starting to grate on Hank's nerves; even though us truckers are like cowboys-- on our iron horses a-ridin', as it were-- we do tend to get a bit vulnerable sometimes, psychologically speaking. He looked a bit more jumpy than usual today, though. Maybe it's them am-phetamines you been taking, I suggested. In a My Bloody Valentine-type fashion, Hank? No, in a more Polvo sorta way. Well, that about knocked my underpants out my overalls; I didn't know Hank was into the math-rock. Maybe it's the music you been listening to, huh, Hank? I said. Hank looked me straight in the eyes. He had real pretty eyes. C'mon, I want you to listen to something. We paid our bills and walked out of the diner to where Hank's truck (you know, the one with Drive Like Jehu painted on the side) was parked. We got into the cab. He had a turntable set up between the seats; I don't