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Dear Sirs (BZA, Beadel, Angry M.F. & Lorraine Otsego too),

ja whuh?As a lifelong Brooklynite, I thought I’d “seen it all.” Did a lot of it too, in my younger days. Taxi-dancing, the numbers, after-hours joints— you-name-it, really. I dropped acid when it was legal and in 1970 I saw the Grateful Dead four nights running in Sunset Park: a different era to be sure. Hardcore shows at Zappa’s Rock Palace, shaking my ass at Odyssey 2000, seeing The Warriors at the Alpine in Bay Ridge on opening night, all sortsa crazy shit. Later I even dated one of the Gramercy Riffs— true story, he was really from Flatbush but those December-May romances are always fraught with peril, especially in Brooklyn. Anyway, it’s 2:15 a.m. here on Troy Avenue & Ilookin’ north have, as they say, “had a few”; what of it? Lately I’ve been enjoying a trend in what the squares call “vandalism”: etch (not kvetch). Well, this woman calls etch a sign of life, goddamnit, but truthfully, I don’t know all that much about it. Perhaps WWIB can fill us coots in a little? I’m sure others share my delight & wonder at how the kids stay up these days.

L.A.M.F.,

Margaret K. Demetre
Flatlands

Speechless, mostly, Caz Dolowicz adds: Speaking of the track, as some of ya’ll were the other day, you can’t get odds any more, the gambling issue of Stop Smiling magazine is out & it’s sick. The Nick Tosches piece by The Publisher is one thing, & hey, it’s Nick— hard to go wrong, tho’ I don’t get the wine futures racket myself— but oh baby, there’s so much more! The Sisters at the orphanage said, “Blogs move in mysterious ways…”

Caz Dolowicz was born on Sands Street in 1923. A retired New York City Transit Authority Tower Operator, he lives, with his third wife, in a state of perpetual agitation in Bay Ridge, although playing with his two cats has been known to calm him. He does not want your peas, your rice, your coconut oil, nor all arrogance of earthen riches. (Motherfucker?!)

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