This was written during July ’83 in Palms park during my lunch time breaks. The original recording features an interesting interruption and captured phone-in from Maureen, my girlfriend-to-be at that time, asking the perennial question:
Voice on phone: “Is John there?”
Me: “John? No… he’s not here.” (Realizing that the question doesn’t even make sense) “…Well – actually, there’s no one here by that name.”
…Of course, I never realized until much later that this wrong-number was an attempt to get me on the phone and ask me out on my first date.
Maureen: “Urrrr….. OK. I’ll try his house. Bye.”
Can I call it performance art?