Time passes. We're in Hermosa and as usual I'm bitching about gentrification... I specifically drive by Union Cattle Co. to lament the razing of the old Baptist Church that was literally the home of Black Flag. (Joe Nolte's thoughts and timeline of South Bay punk rock in the late '70s and '80 are fun reading—Matt [Nothing] be warned, it will make you sad you ever left.)
Anyway, the scene is now home. I'm sitting on the couch watching a show about people that build ice roads to diamond mines in Canada, and the phone rings. And it's dude from the story. And he's eating dinner at Union Cattle Co. in Hermosa.
DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF?!
He's in town for a week on business and wants to take me to lunch tomorrow. I realize this is my talent, but this is fairly not-random, even for me.
In other news, Charlie asked me to pass along that "pizza with crushed red pepper is the bomb." Consider that your PSA du jour.