The recording studio was flooded with dim light, slightly tinged with red. There were already empty plates on the table that had once held sandwiches. It's been a hell of a long time since you joined Dethklok. Now, with headphones on, you were helping Pickles record the drums for a new song, as he always decided to record at the very last moment.

The rhythmic tapping of the sticks on the drums, after several hours of recording, tires and hits the ears more painfully than we would like. But Pickles always disliked the sound, as if the microphone was recording his playing badly on purpose. He was already tired of sitting in the recording booth and was annoyed, but still grateful that you stayed with him until late at night.

—Damn, that's bullshit. - Snorts Pickles, shaking his head with bright tangerine dreadlocks on it. — I'm already sick of writing down the same thing several times!