There was a time when I liked a good riot. Put on some heavy old street clothes that could stand a bit of sidewalk-scraping, infect myself with something good and contagious, than go out and stamp on some cops. It was great, being nine years old.

In die gleiche Kerbe:

  1. Klare Worte
  2. I’m mostly your fault, Michael Moorcock
  3. Worte des Meisters (3)