Crazy.
“Y’know,” I start, “sayin' Crazy is like sayin’ your favorite slice is plain cheese?—”
He lifts both hands,
cutting me off before I can drag him.
“Whoa, whoa—lemme stop you right there.”
His grin widens, bracing.
“Plain is the standard, aight?
“If the slice ain't good naked, it ain't good.
“And you should know the writing ofCrazywas actually crazy. In an interview, Tyler said writing it was one of those?—”
I jump in,
“—rare moments where everything just…
“clicked?”
His mouth snaps shut.
His brows pinch together.
“The words, the music?—
“an effortless rush?” I add.
His eyes narrow. Suspicious. Shocked.
I don’t stop there. “Like the song was?—”
“—writing itself,” he finishes without thinking.
As if the words were waiting in his mouth.
He stares, disbelief pausing him a beat.
“Hold on—how the hell did you know that?”
His eyes bounce between mine,
searching for the trick.
“I thought I was the only member of the Useless Aerosmith Trivia Club.”
I slide the vinyls back into his arms.
“Please,” I tap my chest,
“you’re lookin’ at the president.
“Lifetime membership. Zero shame.”
I grin. “Welcome to the club, rookie.”
