I don’t need to imagine it, how bad it felt to hear the news on the TV about him first, when Howard Cosell interrupted Monday Night Football to report about the shooting, making me tune to my favorite rock station where the disc jockey put on the unedited version of Working Class Hero, and how like him, I knew what it felt like to be one, and now all these years later, bearing other burdens, wounded elsewhere by things much closer to home, the girl I kissed outside the bar, over whom I still sometimes still ache, that too long ago as well, too distant to worry about, and yet sometimes I still do, my life mapped out with such moments and such people, an accurate portrayal of what my life is all about, the people we have loved and lost, rather than those we manage to keep, each hurting deeply but in a different way, not always as acute, but always there, like a kiss in the dark.
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