Howie Pyro, with art and with his bass. BJ Papas
In the late 1970s, Whitestone, Queens, seemed a million miles away from anything real and fun, even though it was only 30 minutes from Manhattan by car. It took at least two and a half hours to get there by public transportation. When I was a kid, the city might as well have been on another planet.
There wasn’t much going on in Whitestone. Kids hung out in schoolyards at night, blasting Led Zeppelin from boom boxes. At least on Halloween, the place got covered in shaving cream and eggs, and
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