So one day they're sitting there plotting (they were always plotting; whether it was the overthrow of the government, or how to get that bar-room queen off her throne and into the sack), and this angry social reject named Joe U. stumbles through the side door. He was raging at the world and dragging about ten yards of clearly discernible emotional baggage.

To this day, no one is sure exactly where he came from but, evidently, it was somewhere grim and painful. There were spiritual needle marks scattered throughout his opening aria--and we all listened. He seemed to know a lot about boxing and horse-racing, and Charles Bukowski and Jack & Neal. And he'd gladly talk about them all--all night.