Yesterday I read in
pingouin's daylog that
Joey Ramone had died. I went to bed not knowing if it were true or not, and that night I dreamed about
the Ramones -- Johnny and Dee Dee, specifically. It was the early days when they had just formed the band and were living in
poverty and
obscurity amid the madness of the fledgling
New York punk scene.
I dreamed that the pair shared an apartment just over a porn shop in which they both worked. The store, which was owned by a Chinese man, was a dive, and their apartment was a dump. They were constantly stoned on pot or glue, or both which made their attempts to help customers hilarious. They went to heroin-fueled punk parties in the apartment above theirs, but there were two poles they could slide down to the porn shop on (just like firemen, or Batman and Robin) if they had to get back there in a hurry.