the Bolonasian jet that went down was the first sign we had, those of us still listening to the broadcast at that point.
this was in the time of Busharon, back before the tin mice came and ate up all the wire.
I was still collecting glass, Ander was smoking like a chimney, and the Little Ones were making steady money playing weekends at The Grill.
we thought we were all so bitter and resigned but from here it looks like a lunchroom table full of middle-class punk wannabes at a junior high in some low-crime American suburb of 1980.
posted by Juke 9:51 PM