Written by Craig Finn
A classic Finn scenario: two former scenesters wandering the night, reminiscing about their glory days while trying but failing to score drugs. No one recognizes them anymore, not in the clubs, not at the bars, and their fading relevance hangs over everything. The desperation is played for dark laughs, though, with lines that land like little sad punchlines: "Well the bartender's friend sold us something / I think was probably coriander" and "Gave too much cash / To that one creepy kid at the car wash / He said he could make a few calls / But I don't think that he made any calls." It's classic Finn humor: specific and painfully human. But, as with so many of his burnouts and lost souls, the joke doesn't carry them to a happy ending. Musically, it's a curveball compared to The Hold Steady: stuttering, dolphin-like guitar squeals, what sounds like a squawking sax, odd metallic string blasts, and distorted drums and guitars popping in and out. Everything jitters and bounces around them, mirroring their jittery, off-kilter night. It feels unstable, slightly unhinged: perfect for a story about people realizing the party may finally be over.