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"Got Guts," alright. In an uproar. Straight to the pharmaceuticals, as soon as the door closed behind me... a poor coping mechanism, to say the least. No without its charms, the ride. I sang, testified, swooned to these sounds on the player: Brenda Lee Wanda Jackson Fairground Attraction Slade TRex Porter Wagonner les T�t�s Brul�es ...all over the musical map. Deposited, immediately, up the gravel drive and to my door. Second verse, same as the first. Baby-sat by BBC and twenty-4. Until the sun came up. Four hours later, it's "le T�t� Brule," for real. And now, I bolt for the door. |
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