Tim was walking alone through the quiet streets of a small town in Plano, Texas, where he and his band were based.
He had been walking for some time, searching for inspiration, but to no avail. He always dreaded what strikes every artist at some point: writer's block.
Suddenly, someone called out to him:
- "You're Tim Henson, right?"
Oh yeah, I'm famous now, the 23-year-old guitarist remembered.
- "Could you take a selfie with me, please?"
- "Of course," he replied.
After taking the photo, the young fan warmly thanked him and left.
Tim watched him for a moment. He recalled having a similar reaction when he once saw David Gilmour walk past him by chance during a visit to London, where Pink Floyd originated.
He figured that this fan would one day look back and think about how he had seen Tim Henson, guitarist of Polyphia, walking by in Plano, just like that, by chance.
In hindsight, Tim thought David had probably rushed home after their encounter, because that's exactly what he did himself.
If walking really brought inspiration, I would have written the next five albums by now, Tim thought as he headed back to the studio/home/headquarters of the band.
It was a black house from the outside, resembling a large countryside home, and inside it was decorated with the aesthetic that had helped shape the band's reputation-a mix of gothic, metal, and oriental. Each room was decorated to the taste of its occupant.
Tim greeted everyone as he entered, with two voices responding back. It was Clay, the bassist, and Scott, the guitarist-one in the living room texting, the other on the couch watching a Pantera concert from 2001.
Tim noticed his guitarist friend was caressing his thin beard every time Dimebag Darrell's messy, flashy pink beard appeared on the screen.
Worried, Tim went to hide the pink dye from Scott's bathroom, then retreated to his own room.
His room had two white walls, decorated with branches and turquoise and gold flowers, and two black walls, covered with Asian dragon patterns and white and red birds, with a prism crossed by a rainbow drawn in one corner-a discreet tribute to Pink Floyd.
There, Tim took off his sweater, let himself fall onto his bed, lying on his back, and sighed deeply.
Eight years already? And what's next?
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To be continued !
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