SYRACUSE, NEW YORK: 1994
It must have been snowing for about six weeks now. The residents are in control and the guy that drives the snow plough is the most important man in the world today - and he’s done a great job. The roads are clear enough to get to a club. We find ourselves at the aptly named Lost Horizon. Shit, who would have ever thought of putting a bar here? I get asked for my ID at the door. For some reason I still have my passport on me. Its five bucks to get in and the beer is free all night… life is swell.

The joint is full of guys who either have Judas Priest t-shirts on or lumber shirts. It occurs to me that most of these guys probably work in the lumber yard. The barmaid is cool… really cool. She’s more than willing to talk to these two wandering gringos from out of town. Let’s re-cap. She’s blonde, the beer is free, I’m in New York. I am so in love with myself right now.

JJ tries to convince the DJ that he should play the new Wildhearts single “Suckerpunch”, and she asks me if I want to go to a Harley rally with her tomorrow. She says she’ll take me on the back of hers and J can ride with her brother. She writes down her name and address and phone number. I put it safely inside my passport and say I’ll call her in the morning. Suckerpunch rumbles through the club and everybody stops to listen. I get asked if I am in the band, it almost crosses my mind to say I am, but life is treating me so well tonight… why would I want to be in the Wildhearts?

Outside later, we get a stack of Hershey’s from a petrol station and make hundreds of snow angels in the street with the guys in lumber shirts.

I get up early the next morning to make plans for the day. Hunting down my precious slip of paper is easy, I must have slept with it in my fist. I light up, pick up the phone. I unravel the paper. At the top she has written her name:

Maureen.

I sigh, put down the phone and go back to bed.

Nobody in real life is called Maureen.