LONG MAY YOU RUN by NEIL YOUNG. Story by David Oke.
Cars may come and go but some you never forget.
Cars may come and go but some you never forget.
It was a time of riding on a barrel of a song and being saved by a fisherman called Friedrich Nietzsche and his novel Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
As the sun set, a man took a seat at a truncated keyboard. A 60-key piano that barely fitted in the space, jammed between the door and a window. With minimal fanfare he played for the few of us there.
It was just after 9 a.m., a week out from Christmas. My best friend and I were on our weekly record hunt.
In a world of neon signs and endless advertising angles this was the most uplifting piece of graffiti I've read in a long time.
It reminded her of when the conductor moves to the podium and, with a couple of taps, signals the dawn of the main event.
The boys dare each other to read out loud the titles of the X-rated movies showing down the road, some claiming to have been snuck in there by mysterious older mates.
Mary Pomfret writes a lyrical response to the song Fairytale Of New York in the wake of the death of Shane McGowan.
I couldn’t determine his age. Maybe thirty. Maybe sixty. Weathered, muscled and lean.
Saturday night hot and dark/lonely widow sits outside/on front verandah no lights on