“Joe’s coming to town.”
“Junky Joe or Joey Pony?”
“Junky Joe.”
“Ooh… here we go.”
Chris and I smile big, like it’s some inside joke, like we’re suddenly sitting in a cellar waiting for the tornado to hit but kind of happy that it’s going to hit regardless.

I never attended a GG Allin show because I’m not into poo. It was a realistic possibility in the late 1980s and early ’90s to see GG play with the Murder Junkies on the heroin-saturated Lower East Side, which was about to begin its decade-long transformation into a place that GG neither could afford nor would be especially welcome in.

Elizabeth and I had cut class one autumn morning circa 1986. We’re LES kids and we don’t behave properly.