At Trash Bar in Brooklyn, a man revs his motorcycle and then falls asleep as he rides away. I don’t hear him crash, but I feel it inside me. I am a very spiritual man, the first of my great connections being the ability to “feel” automobile accidents and other violence. I have sort of an antennae in my ass. Now, perhaps it was the accident that kept me from sensing it, but The Turbo AC’s - the slick, oily cruiser punk band - was in grave danger that night.

As it turns out, so was I.

The following is a transcript of our interview, though it was interrupted many times, often for weeks at a clip. I will do my best to piece together the calamity of that night.

Trashed: Name?
Kevin: Kevin

Trashed: Band name?
Kevin: The Turbo AC’s.

Trashed: Awesome air conditioners or ‘Warriors’ reference?
Kevin:‘Warriors’ reference -- but you can use the AC as anything you want: absolute chaos, anal cunt, aardvark cars, also crap. Whatever.

Trashed: Ever been in a gang fight?

At this point, a young gentleman - who I would later learn is named Eddy - walked up to the band members. He seemed surprised to see them, perhaps even accidentally running into them. A spark came into the collective Kevins’ eyes, and The Turbo AC’s turned on.

Kevin: Well, well, well -- what do we have here? Excuse us for a moment, we’ll be right back.

They put their arms around a resistant Eddy and escorted him around the corner, into a dark side street. The sound of flesh being pounded immediately followed. I used my spirit ass-antennae to summon the answer and it came quickly: they were all tenderizing the meat to be used in a cool summer salad. I could feel it. Eddy screamed with excitement.

While they were off preparing the refreshing meal, a throng of Germans came bounding down the street, decked out in identical clothing. As they came closer, I saw that even their tattoos were identical.

And they all read: The Turbo AC’s.

One particularly sprightly one, who had the word tattooed to his face, came right up to me, got real close, and sniffed me all over.

German Fan: Vat are you talking to The Turbo AC’s for? Vat is your mission?

Trashed: Just trying to catch up with them for Trashed! Magazine, find out what the big to-do is. So, what made you become a Turbo AC’s fan?

German Fan: Vat? VAT? [He looks at me with sly eyes and a sneer.] Vat makes you NOT a Turbo AC’s fan? Hmm?

His gaggle of Germans snickered at this, pounding their fists and staring me down. I was at a loss for words, but luckily a voice called out through the crowd...