Half-full packs of cigarettes and bottles of water lay scattered before us. The moon hides behind clouds made wispy by a gentle breeze, while tiny raindrops fall on and around us. Josh stands and lights a cigarette, crosses his arms, and states plainly, “Jesse Hughes. Hard-ass.”
The night’s conversations up to that point had bounced from Star Wars to egg sandwiches to the musical genius of Beck, so irrelevance was already a well-established theme, but the nonchalance with which he said it caught us all a bit off guard.
The fact is… none of us disagreed with him. Jesse Hughes is, in fact, a hard-ass.