Floyd

On some Saturday nights, you could smell the booze all the way out onto the streets, following the whiskey through dark alleyways, through wooden doors soaked in smoke and jazz and fruit liqueurs into the moonshiner dance halls. The light flowed warmly...

When only a few were still trying to get weed or stone in the obscure places, we were already asking these gloomy guys for a substance called milk. Milk had become the hot shit, the big hype in those days. The stuff burned briefly...