Woodstock, a Sunday of Music and Art

“I slept though The Who? HOW do you sleep through The Who? Why didn’t you wake me?” “Because if I was sleeping like that and you woke me, I’d have punched ya.” Leona was sullen in the best of conditions. Wet, hungry, unbearably filthy and crashing from acid, no one slept and yet I’d slept throughContinue reading “Woodstock, a Sunday of Music and Art”