Øystein was in the recording studio with his band. He was sitting on the black leather couch, reading a magazine about burning churches. He chuckled. He was wearing a tan knitted sweater, tight jeans, and some leather shoes. His long, curly black hair was down and his soft pink lips puckered. His blue eyes scanned the magazine, his band mates chattering.

”Posers..posers..fucking posers.”

Øystein mumbled with a tiny chuckle, reading the magazine.