Zipping up my jacket I screwed a cigarette between my lips, lit it and inhaled deeply savouring the sweet corrosive poison that billowed into my lungs... Closing my eyes I jetted short sharp spurts of smoke from my nostrils as I exhaled, a contented grin etched on my lips. Three vocal and rhythm guitar tracks recorded, with only lead and overdubs left to do. They wouldn't take much longer than a week to get done. I had over three-quarters of the album recorded and despite the fact that I hadn't. I love you...I want you, I want you, I want you.I think you know by nowI'll get to you somehow.Until I do I'm telling you soYou'll understand.Michelle, my belle.Sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble, Très bien ensemble.I will say the only words I know thatYou'll understand, my Michelle.As I was singing, I saw Michelle come and open her window. Then leaning out to see who was doing singing. She spotted me standing in the shadows and said. "Mike? Mike Kincaid? Is that you? You're the one that. More

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