Imagine – it's a crisp autumn evening. You're out at a garage rock show. You meet eyes with the drummer. He's sweaty and lanky, but you like it. In a crowd of post-performance cigarette smoke, he says this to you, "Bonnie, you're a work of art, you're a wildcard, you're a dreamboat..". So you run home, turn on your roommate's shitty old keyboard, and blast out the first verse of a song.