The first birthday of my husband’s that I actually spent with him was a beautiful, chilly October day in Boston. I was wearing ultra faded 501’s, cinched up at the waist by a black belt, a black blazer four sizes too large, a black velvet hat that looked like a Tim Burton pin cushion and had been an impulse buy I enthusiastically purchased at an art cooperative for under privileged librarians, and a pair of black, snakeskin cowboys boots that were too painful to wear throughout Europe the year before but now were as cool and broken in as Clint Eastwood’s face. The jeans, hip at the time, now seem an unfortunate fashion choice, one that made me look like an eighty-year old retirement community treasurer playing bingo for refreshment money.
That birthday day Dave’s ensemble included another pair of faded 501’s that he had absconded from me that may or may not have belonged to an ex-boyfriend, a 1960’s, long, leather coat with a few perfected placed sexy rips and scratches, a black t-shirt and black, snakeskin cowboy boots that cost more than the rent. Yes, we were dressed like 1990 hipster twins slathered in homeless chic and sprinkled with a pixie dust mixture of endless possibilities, fearlessness and unfettered lust. The world was our oyster and we were going to shuck, shuck,shuck it together.
To honor my man on this wonderful birthday of his I wanted to share a little slice of memory pie. This song is that great day, all those years ago, walking through the changing leaves and into a future of absolute anarchy together!
I love you, King.
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