Short Story: Epoch He Spoke

Lou Reed was my god. His god was Andy Warhol. But just as Lou outgrew Andy, I found Mr Reed no longer handy.

It was the mid-to-late-90s and I was in the business of not having a job. Wandering the town mid-to-late at night, leaving my votive deposits in bar toilets, on footpaths, in gutters and, once, all over this chick I was dancing with. Her fault. En…