In the early months of 2008, Ugly Orwell began to lose it. This, in its striking resemblance to the plague that befell August a year earlier, was making for an alarming trend. Wisconsin was a thing of the past by now. August had moved to Harlem, Ugly to Tampa… both in pursuit of dreams that didn’t seem to matter. "Strange Passengers" seemed a million miles away, until a single moment provided the inspiration for a different type of project. August was drunk, bundled up nicely in the third row of a since-imploded Shea Stadium… and Ugly was nursing a nosebleed at an airport bar.