SOMEBODY IN PARTICULAR

"My dad was a jockey--he's dead now--and my mom's real short, so that's why I'm so small," he proclaims as he gets ready for launch time. "I'm fifteen years old and I only weigh 65 pounds. But I can still do lots of things around here--and I want to, because of Doug. He's the greatest."

With that, Ferrucci shoots past Holland and executes a delicate belly flop onto the craniums of those below him. Kauffman misses this display, but when he's told about it at the end of a relatively uneventful night (no major injuries, no big hassles), he rolls his eyes and sneers. "That's great," he grouses. "I let him in here for every damned show and then he does that. Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. He's not doing it again."

A few weeks later, in the midst of the Sebadoh concert Kauffman fought so hard to book at the Ogden, Ferrucci appears from behind a backstage curtain and goes airborne again. Kauffman is standing nearby, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's got a lot of things on his mind.