The Dust Cloud Arrives
I don’t remember much about that night. It comes in bits and pieces, fading in and out of black. Not only because it was 30-something years ago, but, because I was highly intoxicated. I remember Keith was yelling at me, as we spun out of a neighborhood on the south side of town and got on Petaluma Hill Road. I remember the smell of regurgitated Jack Daniels permeating up my neck after I puked on the shoulder.
It was still daylight when Keith picked me up at Leza’s. I hadn’t seen much of him since I took him back to Tennessee with me the previous Christmas. Now it was late September, and I was beginning to rage. The frustration concerning the band had turned into anger. When we reconnected, he told me some surprising news.
“Hey Kev, guess what … I’m moving to your homeland.”
“What? Tennessee?… READ MORE...