BREAKFAST WITH NICKELBACK
These musical cockroaches are in on the joke.
It’s 9:30 in the morning and I’m standing at the comer of 54th and Seventh in midtown Manhattan. People are tired, people are hangry, and no one is in the mood to have a camera shoved in their face.
An expertly coiffed head of blond hair is turning from side to side, analyzing street signs and making directional conclusions: “It’s fuckin’ this way, guys.” One of the handlers seems unsure, but I can see the confidence radiating from this gorgeous head of hair. “Follow Chad!” 1 announce and make my way toward him. “He doesn’t even live here,” someone quietly remarks. I don’t care. This guy looks like he knows where he’s going, and I’m hungry. It’s time for breakfast with Nickelback. So, how the hell’d we wind up like this?
