A synth stabs, a guitar answers in a bright panic, and Brandon Flowers starts already out of the cage, doing just fine, which is how you know he is not.
A guitar figure hangs in the air like a school bell that will not stop, and Jim Kerr comes in already asking to be remembered, the title a hand on your shoulder in a corridor.
Rain is already falling when the Rhodes piano enters, a jazz figure with nowhere urgent to be, and Jim Morrison's voice comes in low, as if he were telling the story from the passenger seat.