You spend your youth obsessed about a faraway heaven called CBGBs and you scrape one goddam article out of an old, dug-up Rolling Stone at the library your mother works part-time at about the scene and cling to it, knowing it's the only scrap of info you'll ever get about any of your heroes until the next one and then one day about a million years later you open your eyes and the goddam Mets announcers are talking about Richard Hell & Tom Verlaine and you're like you know what, shit's gonna be okay from here on out.
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