Erstwhile Okie on Saint Mark's Place. Frustrated novelist, satisfied father.
Miltoning, sometimes described as the art of not writing Paradise Lost before fifty.
These days I get up on Saturday morning and drive to pick up the boys in Callicoon and turn around and drive back to Manhattan, then Sunday evening drive them back upstate and turn around and come home. But until a couple of years ago I kept an apartment in Cochecton and I would take the train up Fridays after work, and we would spend our weekends upstate mostly, and I would take the train back Sunday night.
I remember YouTube Music randomly playing this song one of those Sunday nights when I was on the platform at Secaucus just before midnight, and it struck me and I listened to it regularly for weeks.
Just a few days ago I thought of it and tried and failed to remember and find it. I could only summon some snippet about a last cigarette, and it wasn't enough for Google to help.
Then just tonight it magically popped up in my YouTube Music recommendations. Funny how these things work sometimes.