Trying to recall what I was feeling back in 1978. Maybe it's best to leave it all alone, lest something unmanageable or unexplainable gets dredged up, but that's not my way.
I pick scabs.
I look closely.
To the best of my recollection it was all about looking for a big, big answer to a question that remained uncertain. It was a search for some kind of relief but from what isn't really clear.
Anguish that weed, beer and big, fake grins couldn't take care of.