The title is from Goin’ Down To Monte Carlo by Van Morrison. The first time I heard this I knew it to be true, like opening up the short door to the bedroom attic of my brain and discovering some private memory in a wood crate. 344 more words
Brooks was the kind of friend you wanted around when a fight’s about to brew. Much like myself, Brooks just didn’t give a shit, and when you combine such anarchic lethargy you get some truly irredeemable nights.
Like John, I find it impossible to restrict to 10. Getting dangerously close to favorite album territory here. Interesting that so far there are no duplicates, but can’t imagine that will last long. 68 more words