On a wintry night in 1968 someone came to our door and told us Ed was in trouble. Robert and I went out to find him. I grabbed my black lamb toy that Robert had given to me. It was his black sheep boy to black sheep girl present. Ed was something of a black sheep himself, so I took it along as a comforting talisman.
Ed was perched high up on a crane; he wouldn't come down. It was a cold, clear night, and as Robert talked to him, I climbed up the crane and gave him the lamb. He was shivering. We were the rebels without a cause and he was our sad Sal Mineo. Griffith Park in Brooklyn.
Ed followed me down, and Robert took him home.
"Don't worry about the lamb," he said when he returned. "I'll find you another."
We lost contact with Ed but a decade later he was with me in an unexpected way. As I approached the microphone with my electric guitar to sing the opening line "So you want to be a rock 'n' roll star," I remembered his words. Small prophecies.
Just Kids, by Patti Smith
It won the National Book Award for non-fiction, she writes like a dream, paints a picture in your head, and makes everything seem possible. And that's about all there is to say. (and it's got some badass 60s/70s rock 'n' roll stories)
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