All the gold in the world won't buy your self-respect. Turns out that I squandered the last of my libido on fantasy. That's okay. Sometimes the beauty of humanity blinds me like a left fielder losing a pop fly in the sun.
If you don't believe in ghosts you just don't dream and I feel sorry for you.
My Chicken Little rants about the demise of rock'n'roll was decades late. That horse was out of the barn and over that fence before I piped up. The seeds of fear and loss were planted in 1956 when publishers figured out that "Will Calypso Kill Rock'n'Roll?" and "Pat Replaces Elvis" covers sold magazines. I bought 'em all.
If it seems that I'm rambling here it's just that I'm not connecting these thoughts for you. It's all of a piece. I promise.
She hopes I won't bother her again and fears that maybe I won't.