I'm Proud Of What I Write And

I Rang My Mother To Thank Her For Giving Birth To Me And She Said, "what Choice Had I? You Were In There, How Else Were You Going To Get Out?

I Sighed. "what Is Life But Fleeting Moments Of Happiness Strung Together On Necklace Of Despair?

My Mother Is The Best Storyteller. And Her Mother Was Too.

I Went Grey At 12, My Eyesight Went At 17. I've Been A Crock From Very Early On.

He Seemed Wild And Dangerous And Carefree--well, He Would, Would'nt He? What Were Motorcycles And Black Leather Pants If Not The Uniform Of A Wild, Dangerous And Carefree Man?