(above: Elmhurst, IL. The Land of Love Letters)
You can see my thick, thick punk rock roots in this one. Clearly my choice in tween love partners often foreshadowed a life of brutal recklessness and gettin’ bent. I would be spitting on motorcycles in no time. This bawdy affair ended as I left for greener pastures and quicker bucks in the Calcutta scrapyard.