I wasn’t sure when my brother had taken to listening to lite rock, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to handle it for long. Okay, maybe when I say “lite rock,” I’m exaggerating… no, I take it back. The radio is queuing up Abba. It was making it hard to concentrate on my web searching.
At about the time I was about to speak up and beg like a dog for him to find something else to listen to, the doorbell rang. A second later, Pete came out of his room, dressed in the baggies, tank top and sandals that were the standard dress uniform of San Diego. He started for the door… then veered towards the stereo. “Since when do you listen to Abba?” he said, as he punched the program control and an eighties rock station came on. Playing Van Halen. I was only marginally sure it was an improvement, at that.