the size of the bathroom here,
but I hang on to that apartment
with dear life because it’s only
$500 dollars a month. And
you’ll take that apartment from
me when you pry it from my
cold, dead hands.) I’m about
to embark on the rock and roll
journey of a lifetime with “Blood
& Roses” and “Behind The Wall
of Sleep” under our belt as The
Smithereens, opening a tour for
The Ramones, when the phone
rings at two in the morning.
Now, what did it mean in 1986
when the phone rang at two in
the morning? Somebody was
sick, somebody died. I said,
“God, why are you punishing
me? We’re just about to do ev-
erything I always wanted to do
and it can’t be good.” I let it ring
and then I picked it up. “Patrick,
it’s Mommy. Patty!” I’m 31 years
old. “Patt