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Jesus' Son 1999
The Vine had no jukebox, but a real stereo continually played tunes of alcoholic self-pity and sentimental divorce. “Nurse,” I sobbed. She poured doubles like an angel, right up to the lip of a cocktail glass, no measuring. “You have a lovely pitching arm.” You had to go down to them like a hummingbird over a blossom. I saw her much later, not too many years ago, and when I smiled she seemed to believe I was making advances. But…
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Strange Parallel 1998
“what do you think about the future, what’s going to happen for you?”
“i think the music business will eventually crush me. but i’m ready”
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