. something ... incomplete ... about the way I was living.And behaving.My parents would never have understood. Or even recognized me. During that time...Sex. And drugs. And rock and roll. There was fighting in the street. I was a street-fightin' man. I was living a songwriter's dream.Marching and getting maced and looking at Hell's Angels dressed up as "security" and crying for the fallen here at home and cursing the fallen across the sea in another world and then going back to our little places. It felt like a spike was slowly being pounded between my eyes, and I stopped trying to move the switch. The pain lessened markedly, but the echo of it could still be felt, as I realized that I'd fallen to the floor."Are you alright in there, man?" Dennis said a few moments later, knocking on my door. "I heard you yell."I got up on my knees, and held my head in my hands as I answered back, "Yeah, just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you."As Dennis walked away, I wondered what had happened? I could. More

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