"I'm Down, I'm Really Down" — The Emerging Sopor Culture
Wayne Robins, Creem, October 1972
SINCE HE got out of the army, my friend Tony has been getting by wheeling vats of boiling liquid from one tank to another in a plastics factory in Long Island's Denton Avenue industrial park. He played drums with the New Generation, in high school, where he usually slept before leaving early for his job at the Big Apple supermarket on Hillside Avenue. Tony was a pretty neat guy, even if his grades weren't so hot. By mid-October of any given school year, his locker was so filled with empty terpinhydrate bottles there was no room for books.
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