. !“Yeah, it was,” she giggled. “I hope you aren’t mad.”“Huh? Mad at what?”“At me. For pressuring you.”“You mean in the bedroom?�...“Yeah.”“No, I’m not mad,” I said slowly.“It seemed like you weren’t sure about the whole thing.”“Well, I didn’t want you to do something out of guilt. I didn’t want to jump into that.”She raised a suggestive brow at me. “But you did.”“Well, you made it hard to resist,” I admitted.“Sorry,” she said, cracking a slight smile.“Don’t be, that was ... incredible!” I. Psychlone didn't want to milk it too much. The crowd wanted more than slogans to sing along to. They wanted beats to dance to. There were other tunes on his laptop from the far distant twentieth century he could mix and match with more familiar tunes from the turn of the twenty-second century. "War. What is it good for?" "There's a Hard Rain a Gonna Fall." "Eve of Destruction." But Psychlone wasn't here to drop tunes from the long dead Age of Rock and Roll. This wasn't the time to invoke the. More

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