June 11
I’m late picking up my girlfriend Heather from her pilates class. I frantically run to the driveway, where Sting is waiting in all of his longer-haired Police Synchronicity glory, INSISTING that he will drive me. I’m like, that’s so… nice, but you don’t have to, and he keeps INSISTING, and now I’m late, so I throw my gear into the back seat of his Ferrari-slash-Lamborghini-mobile, and we’re off. Sting is driving with utter speed and skill and exuding confidence and, no, it’s not strange that he’s playing his own album on the car stereo. We park right next to the gym where Heather is tapping her foot and responds exactly as I imagined she would: “You come to pick me up with STING? How do you think that’s going to make me FEEL? I mean, I’m all sweaty, my clothes are all WRINKLED and here you are with STING!” – Kiran