.. everyone has their own people. My sound engineer has this set up the way he likes it. I don’t want to let other people fool around with his stuff...”“That isn’t what I was saying,” I said, taking her by the hips and turning her to face me. “You’re comfortable here. That makes your music better. It lets you go back in and tweak something that sounds good but not perfect. I’d be willing to bet that those facts alone have paid for this place. Even if they didn’t, I can see that you’re proud to. “Don’t mess with my iron, you shhhkinny little punk.”It was Becky Finklestein, in a dark blue sweatsuit this time. She had her hair in a tight ponytail and her freckled face was dotted with sweat, and she wasn’t wearing any glasses. She pointed her giant rack up at me, and got close enough to me that I had to look straight down at her. She didn’t look as angry as the last time I saw her, but she still didn’t look happy. “You need to get the fuck out of here,” she said. “I just finished warming. More

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