Suicide took the stage before a sparse audience. I counted 19 people.
Martin Rev stood impassively at his keyboards and Alan Vega smacked the microphone into his face between stanzas of CHEREE.
Anthony handed me the vial of poppers.
My head exploded on the first inhale.
It was Boxing Day on the Bowery and tonight was as a good a day as any to be alive in New York City.
