1967 or 68, sitting on my girlfriend's beach house floor, for reasons long lost to the tides, the rest of the Factory spread out thru the house, Andy presiding over all, Paul the film maker putting together the next day, and National Velvet wandering through naked, and Louis not in his new corvette …. and Viva playing some wailing thing on a wooden flute about a foot from my face, stops for a moment to …. whatever… those were the days, and nights… and something not easily given up as lost….. they live still whenever I hear certain tunes, or see a gull on the wind, or chance across an old photograph … sadly, this is the only image of that time to survive … here it is, a small bromoil …. don't stop thinking about tomorrow….
