I kid you not—I had a bad dream last night. Real bad. I was at a Foghat Concert by myself. And this, just after I told Toad in a response to one of his comments, that my pathos and neuroses weren’t complex. Damn. And I never saw Foghat. Never even had to endure them while waiting for a main act.
Even a Bay City Rollers dream would have been better than dreaming about Foghat. At least they did some whimsical things with color and pattern. Foghat—perhaps the gnarliest three chord bunch ever assembled.
The only thing that might have trumped this Foghat dream would perhaps be one where maybe I was in a hot tub. With Barry White.
I am not and never was, a fool for the city.
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