Lenny was freaking me out on the ear phones. The spring wheather was getting as Swedish as it would — rain and heavy grey clouds, looking as meant to fall down any second. As child I always thought the sky could fall down; if you only stood still long enough in the same place. So one always had to be in motion. This day, however, the only thing falling down, from above, was rain. And I was soaking wet as the bus arrived. Lenny's whaling was an audio-orgasm, making me spin, shake like a wet dog and perform small Travoltas amongst the other, controlled, travellers. I'm usually a controlled buspassenger myself, but some feelings ain't to be leashed. My walkman went my way, and I danced his way, and I listened to my mama say: Baby, don't ride that crazy horse, and she said, you must push with much force, and then she said, go get all that you're after, because my mama said that love is all that matters. Pushing out of the bus, and watching the red, crazy horse gallop out of my sight, I came to wonder why they don't make these walkmen in vinyl size. By now Lenny had cut the tuneflow, and it was Jimi's turn to show me some purple haze. I was in heaven and back. Music just ain't freaking enough on CD — I need vinyl.