<div class="floatleft"><div align="center">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/f19d/9appqg757749c254g.jpg)<br/><div align="center"><strong>Blĭnde</strong><br/><em>Itinerant Musician</em><br/>  ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾   (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=289408.msg14301929#msg14301929)</div></div></div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">The crowd turns toward post birthday cake festivities. I take a big sip of my drink. This feels good. Fiddle with my playback gear and start the rhythm.<br/><br/>  “Here’s one my friend Bruce wrote. I heard it first sort of as something he called ‘Chrissie’s Song’. This was while I was still kickin’ around the city and Times Square was still a dive and Warhol still thought he was the second coming but after he killed Edie.”<br/><br/>Yeah, kickin’. I think I was clean that week I first heard it. But it’s all fuzzy.</span></span><br/><br/><div align="center">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLuK23BXxRk</div>