 The floor may not be in your old pot. It was an ordinary morning. I had my oatmeal from that same old brownish cereal bowl that I keep in my kitchen cabinet. I read the paper while I ate. It makes me uncomfortable that they only write about murders, rapes, homie invasions, robberies, terrorists. The list goes on. It's a hard pill to swallow that there is so much evil in this world we live in. I had a glass of orange juice and a large cup of coffee. I turned the radio on too. The same news about gruesome crimes on every channel. I turned it off, just to morbid for my taste. Have you guys noticed that they never report about positive things? They never tell us that a bunch of new babies are born, or that someone won the lottery. No, it's just violence, mayhem and misery. My wife used to tell me that I should put on a record every time I feel sad or depressed, something I really like. I wish she was still here. She would be delighted to see that I took her advice. I browsed around my record collection. Maybe some grateful dead to start the day? No, not in the mood for the dead. How about some David Gilmore-era Pink Floyd momentary lapse of reason, perhaps? To be honest, the division bell came very close to be my pick for today. Then I remembered that I already gave it a spin four days ago. I had a glass of red wine and sat in my overly comfy armchair. High hopes started playing, and I felt goosebumps all over my body. Fantastic compositions. Magnificent songwriting. I thought to myself as I carefully placed the record back to the shelf. Nope, not Floyd. I had to find something that I like even more. Then it occurred to me, harvest by Neil Young. I have it on vinyl. It's an original pressing too. My favorite album of all time. I put it on. Again, I love the sound of crackling between tracks on a vinyl, and the overall sound is much richer than on CDs or tapes. These things are important to me. CDs sound too sterile, and the artwork is too small. I don't like them at all. I bought Harvest when I was just a little boy. My father used to take me to the mall that had a nice little record store. Bad insisted that I bought some random jazz record, but I wanted rock instead. Harvest has a beautiful front cover by the way. I fell in love instantly when I saw it at the store, and I knew I had to buy it. The old gatefold cover smells oddly good. I love it. I love everything about it. Every song is amazing. Some people would argue that after the gold rush is better, and that Harvest was a disappointing follow-up to it, but I disagree. It's much more mellow. I mean, just listen to Old Man and tell me it's not the work of a genius. I have all Neil Young's early albums on vinyl, all those masterpieces. Wish I had time to binge listen to them all today, but I don't. I put the hunting rifle next to the balcony door that I had left open after I had been there. I guess I should hide it, but that would be just pointless. The police were on their way. I saw some hysteric woman calling for help just before I stopped shooting. I counted eight, but I hoped the ones who could still move and drag themselves across the street never made it to a hospital or died of blood loss. All those panicking people running around and acting stupid distracted me, so my aim wasn't too good. My wife would not be happy about this. She always insisted that there were no firearms inside our home. Then again, she hardly knew anything about me. If she needed me to be romantic, I'd lit some candles all over the kitchen and cooked my famous shrimp pasta for dinner, along with roses and champagne. When she wanted me to be the man of the house, I poisoned all the rats that were invading the basement or fixed the garage door when it got stuck. And sometimes, she decided we should talk about our feelings, so I wept against her shoulder. I was a good husband to her. I could be whatever she wanted. The doorbell rang. I think this moment came too soon. I wish I had some more time to think about what I'm gonna say to them. They started pounding on the door. It was a matter of minutes before they broke down the door and handcuffed me. Maybe some hot-headed rookie would even beat me, trying to get some answers. I had more stuff to say to the media, because they need to finally realize that music movies or video games do not trigger these events. Least of all, Neil Young. Harvest was still playing in the background. Oh boy, it's the perfect album.