Meet me at the Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach, That shabby, squat nightclub on its foggy pier. Let’s aim for the summer of ’71, When all of our friends were young and immortal.
He wanted to be on air. So between the church programs, the vitamin programs, the chunks of time bought up in fifteen-minute slots, Art came on to announce what was up next. The station signed off at midnight, but by eleven o’clock no one...
