Tommy: [drums] I stepped hopeful out of a dank shoebox attic in Rutherford, Ohio in the wheat-swept breadbasket of America. America, and now I dwell in a grease-marked palace of drills spills and guys named, "Phil."
Phil: All right. I'm famous.
Tommy: So Phil, tell me your story. What brought you to this gas station? Was it the call of the open road? The never-ending circus of passing strangers?
Phil: Well, I didn't graduate from high school, and then my dad died.
Tommy: That's a tragic story. I'm so jealous.