After musicians listed their names on the sign up sheet each Wednesday before 8pm, Gene who hosted the evening, supplied everyone with a number. On a piece of paper he wrote down as many numbers as there were players, then cut them into separate pieces # 16, #7, #22 etc., after placing the bits of paper in his palms, performers gathered round to receive whatever his thumb pushed out. It was supposed to be a randomly generated system of fairness but it was not. He always placed two or three coveted spots, #s 6 and 7 in such a way so he could manipulate those positions, usually for the benefit of Sam Larkin who was his old roommate. He also held onto at least one horrible spot like #30, for anyone he suspected of being absolutely unbearable to hear on stage. Phillip often got #30 or #34. After Susan became a regular she found herself enjoying Phillip particularly and confused how often he was the last person when almost everyone had left. He was originally from Iran and had a fondness for Hendrix, big thick black hair fixed on his head like a wig of styrofoam. He was handsome with a huge mouth of perfectly aligned teeth but he didn’t speak much English. When he took the stage he was very excited, he couldn’t contain himself as he was about to perform cacophonous solos on his electric guitar and as far as he was concerned, he was now legitimately equal to Jimmy Hendrix. Gene would plug in the guitar cord to a direct box which made the sound limp and de-boned but Phillip was always immediately transformed and Susan often wondered what it would be like to kiss someone like that, probably it would be just as passionate she thought.