George Davison has left the building. We went back a long ways. He knew Fyl and I before we knew each other, ancient history. One of those guys who never saw the point in being regular…a boho freak to the core, and sweet as hell. Stoned, …too. Some very fond memories. Became a fine guitar player. When I first met him he knew two chords, sometimes three. What a night that was. The girls rushed the stage and shredded his tee shirt. It hung off in tatters, his glasses were askew, and they did I fought the law three times because they barely knew any songs. That was 1979, I think. Wild wild times, wonderful times. The future was forever and no one ever died.
I once wrote about the time i ran into George at a party and he told me 315 was dead. Cancer, he said. Now George is dead. Cancer again. What goes around, I guess.
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