I was watching a Stones concert vid from just a few years ago, and couldn't help but ruminate on the fact that, even though I'm now officially a senior citizen, all those guys could, at least theoretically, be of my father's generation.
Charlie Watt's just bought the farm at age 80. Who can imagine rocking and rolling with the greatest rock and roll band in rock and roll history at that age?
But he's gone, and millions of dollars worth of hair transplants buried with him.
What a waste.
The Rolling Stones have provided the soundtrack for the last fifty years of popular culture. They'll be touring again, sans Charlie. The ticket prices will be astronomical. No street-fighting girls and boys anywhere, except those Antifa kids with rich white parents, will be able to afford the freight.
But we love them all the same...
Aswim as we are in our grief at Charlie's passing, life goes on. I ventured forth on a junket to the Indian River Liquor Store this afternoon, to stock up on supplies for the weekend.
That's fifteen minutes one way, and another fifteen back home, for a total of a half hour round trip.
I couldn't do my half hour round trip without ducking down the Church Side-road for an emergency piss on the way home!
Adult diapers here I come!
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