Arizona. It is night.
Tom and Matt of Black Mask have been stumbling along the blank highways of Tucson for many hours now.
Their valuable supply of imported Leffe is running dangerously low, and they seek somewhere to wash the dried blood off their hands and clothes.
Matt's backpack contains one Roland TR-707 Drum Machine, and one Korg Synth.
Tom's backpack contains one stolen microphone.
An enormous neon sign on the horizon flashes 'Tucson Inn'.
Around a green pool at 3am, they start to write some music...
