Shards of Velvet Afloat in London: Nico and John Cale

JOHN CALE REACHES too hard for the pay phone in the lobby of his hotel. Bang. It explodes into the soft corner of his forehead, just above the eye. Someone watching nearby laughs out loud, then apologizes. "I'm sorry, it was just so... outrageous." "Ah yeah," John smiles, understanding. He turns his attention back to the receiver, pausing now and then to gently rub the sore spot above his eye.