"No, I haven't."
"They just pick a bright, talented kid and bring him down. The lead singer and guitarist was this shrimp of a kid. Dark hair and eyes, skinny. Boy, could he scream," he chuckles softly. "Anyways, I don't know what happened, but he goes to his mother's house one day and..." Smokey makes a gun with his fingers and presses them against his chest.
|"Smokey" poses at Wall St. Alley|
"Oh, Sissy. I'm sorry. This town just swallows people up. I feel like I'm always the next one on the list. Talk about running!" Somehow I found it incredibly comforting--this strange old man calling me "sissy" with the ease of a grandfather. I couldn't believe that he knew J--, or maybe just that he'd brought J-- up and I'd known who he was talking about.
"Well, Sissy, I always liked wandering around. When I was a kid, I used to go down to the Salvation Army for books. I'd read anything I could get my hands on, but I liked the ones about the occult and physics best." He launches into a monologue about how people are sharing thoughts through electrical transference and how he doesn't like it one bit.
|Bakersfield's "Lou Reed"|