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The death of Junkie John . . .

Sunday 2/16

I found out today that Junkie John is dead.

I guess that really shouldn’t be a surprise. But I still find it disturbing. John and Steve were our next door neighbors in Albuquerque. Each roamed the city with a conure on his shoulder. Steve’s was a Jenday/Sun cross that he called, appropriately enough, Sunday. John’s conure was a greencheek. The shrill screams of those birds announced John and Steve everywhere they went.

During the First Gulf War (I’m assuming the second is slouching toward reality),

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Livin

Sunday 2/16

The desert still amazes me. After I arrived in Albuquerque, I was breathless with the dry brown vastness of the land all around me. The sky and sand met in a dusty blue haze on the horizon as I drove down to Belen to hook up with my old buddy Jose. He

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Go, Bo Diddley

Sunday 2/16

With time to kill in the Atlanta airport, I picked up a New York Times. I was amazed to see Bo Diddley right there on the front page, with a jump to a big spread inside. This is a guy who