Holding the phone to one of Mr. Larson’s speakers, we played the song which most thoroughly communicated our feelings to the Lisbon girls. We can’t remember the song’s title now, and an extensive search through records of the period has proved unsuccessful. We do, however, recall the essential sentiments, which spoke of hard days, long nights, a man waiting outside a broken telephone booth hoping it would somehow ring, and rain, and rainbows. It was mostly guitars, except for one interlude where a mellow cello hummed. We played it into the phone, and then Chase Buell gave our number and we
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