There was a time when I kept a journal. I have proof of this fact- the evidence lines several bookshelves. These journals are filled with drunken musings on bearded Vietnam vets drinking Bud Light on Lingerie Night down at Shorty’s in Martinez while their wives lay dying in hospice of cancer. The page is almost wet with his tears and the last riffs of Freebird on the Jukebox, and there is no irony. I had friends in low places, and I can tell you, there’s a bad moon on the rise, as well as... read more