“As you get old you forget. As you get older you are forgotten.”

The other day a woman sent a query to my Facebook page.

“Are you who I think you are?”

Cheyne had worked at the Milk Bar as a waitress. Cute mulatto singer from London. 21. I remembered her well. I wrote back that I had worked at the Milk Bar as the doorman. Her reply came as a surprise.

“I’m sorry I worked at the Milk Bar too, but I don’t think you’re the person I was thinking…It was all such a long time ago…Take care.”

Not who I thought you were?

Cheyne must have wiped her memory clean of the night the little Brit accompanied back to my apartment on East 10th Street for a little wine. It was 5am. There was no questioning her purpose, however as we got out of the taxi, she said, “I’ve been here before.”

It wasn’t a case of deja vu. Cheyne had come home with my previous subleasee, a male nurse from Sweden. Ruben was a body builder. He was also into black chicks. A nice guy who always paid the rent on time. The girl entered the apartment and said, “Same as it was only Ruben kept it a little cleaner. You know I was wondering who lived here, but saw the records and figured it had to be some old hippie.”

‘Old hippie’.

Those two words castrated my libido. Cheyne and I did nothing but a little blow. That humbling episode was over 23 years ago. Her epistle on Facebook reveals she has forgotten about me 100% and those two words too. They were a curse, because I still listen to Quicksilver Messenger Service and Jefferson Airplane. I might not have long hair, but I am still an old hippie and a punk too.

I will never forget KICK OUT THE JAMS MOTHERFUCKERS.