Cigarette Burning, Wine Waiting...

I'm reading "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" - the Warren Zevon biography supposedly written by his ex-wife Crystal.

It's sad. It begins with his death. On the way to White Plains, on the train the other night, I started crying...

I saw him live twice, way too late. Both times at the Paradise in Boston.

My friend Toby saw him tons of times, and he compelled me to see him when I could.

Warren is right up there for me with Thompson and Bukowski.

Forget "Werewolves Of London."

Listen to the rest.

"It's been a good night, not saying good night, jus' sayin'."



Here's Meagan Marie again. Fucked up negatives and all.