Henry Rollins’ dis­em­bod­ied head was float­ing over my street the other day, extolling the virtues of a Bad Brains album I had never heard of.

Nobody seemed to care (or even notice) except for some tat­tooed, rock­a­billy girl who thought Rollins had some “cool shit on his mind.”

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— —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — –
— —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  — –

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