About the book: year / - You realized a long time ago that you will achieve much more solo than as part of a group. You are the Bob Dylan of this world, Murdoc. But you push your horn with all your might so that we don’t feel like a burden. You’re ready to spend three days without sleep or rest to record material that practically no one will listen to, although you already have a whole record’s worth of songs that will become popular. “You don’t understand shit, cowboy.” - I shook the ashes into the loose snow under my feet. - I'm not doing this for you. This is my dream. Rock band. It's the group. It's an electric sound. Bolt. Huge speakers. Huge halls. And this enormous energy that rushes between all of us and every person in the room. “Maybe,” Eastwood shrugged. - Or maybe it’s you who don’t understand shit, Murdoc.