I’m a rocker. Baby, I’m a rocker. And if I’m not a young rocker anymore, well, never you mind.
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I had plans. One was to get drunk. The other, to sit down at table 10 and live-blog what happens next.
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No doubt about it, the Sorellas parking lot is cute. A funky folk-art replica of an Outback or Friday’s lot at 5/8 scale.
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We had a wonderful night, delightfully unexpected, and I wanted to write about it with all the joy it summoned.
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Eventually, in Amsterdam, you get up from the blank wall.
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Six thousand miles from our town of 7,000, Gleb Lisichkin packs a small bag. He doesn’t need much, beyond the occasional change of rock t-shirts.
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