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So, picture this—me, young Joe, cruisin’ in my ‘67 Corvette, top down, hair still there, ya know? I’d never—never—go lookin’ for that kinda trouble. But my buddy Mike? Hoo boy, he’d drag me along, sayin’, “C’mon, man, live a little!” We’d roll up to some dive bar—neon flickerin’ like it’s half-dead. This one time, ‘round ‘82, Mike spots this gal—fishnets, red lipstick, smokin’ a cig like she owned the joint. He’s all, “Joe, she’s the one!” I’m thinkin’, “Fear’s takin’ over my head now”—like in the movie, ya get me?

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We head back to my place on the Kerkstraat, and I’m trying to salvage what I can. It’s a mess, but I’m determined. Joris is cracking jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re like a mad scientist!” he says. I’m like, “Yeah, but without the cool lab coat!”

Alan Kragt Obituary January 23, 2014