“What are you hiding? Tell me the truth!” The banners fall from the walls, the corridor seems to spin, and the man in the Cheap Trick T-shirt is suddenly transformed into a cloud of oddly shaped plastic chips that fly in my face like crickets hitting a windshield. “But…but…I’ve come all this way! I have to know!”Ī crash, then blackness. Don’t ask any more questions, or I’ll be forced to turn you over to the Dream Police.” “Cheap Trick is a rock & roll band without a past. “How old are they? Where are they from? Why is their name on all these things?” “But…what is Cheap Trick?” I stutter, confused. And this.” Soon, my arms are laden with trinkets and paraphernalia: Cheap Trick belt buckles, Cheap Trick buttons, Cheap Trick bow ties, Cheap Trick clipboards, Cheap Trick undershirts, Cheap Trick karate belts…. “This is yours now,” says the man, draping a gray satin baseball jacket that bears the logo Cheap Trick Dream Police over my shoulders. Together we proceed down a long, dark corridor hung with banners that read Cheap Trick. “I have many things for you,” he tells me, smiling slyly. The Man is slight, swarthy, and he wears a black T-shirt with the words Cheap Trick Live at Budokan emblazoned on the back.
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