And what happened to the Snowdens of yesteryear? And, of course, to tipple or not to tipple (we're talking tippling here and I'm king of the tipplers--I wouldn't know a tiple from Shinola)? The answer to that was obvious: to breathe or not to breathe, to think or not to think--there was no real question here except who hid the bottle? It couldn't have been Momma--she hasn't been on the thread long enough. It must have been Joe: He knew I had been getting some on the side, buying from strangers, trusting the streets, taking the big chance, going out on a limb, going down the road feeling bad, taking a chance on love, sitting on top of the world, watchin' that pretty little hand wave bye-bye as Smokey Joe pulled out of the station. I had to get some juice, quick, to counteract the Aseeds that had my head going around in circles. I wondered what would happen if I popped some of the BSeeds but there was still enough of my mind to push through what was on my mind (You were always on my mind, Alice--or was it Harpgirl or Barbara or Kat or SingsIrish or FairYoungmaid or PJ or KC and the Sunshine band or one of the other Barbaras or Alison or Helen--the drool was starting again and there wasn't even an openback with the fifth string disappearing just past the fifth fret in front of me, even speaking figuratively (speaking figuratively, what the hell ever happened to Baby--either of them). Anyway I needed a drink bad and Mom wasn't gonna help me get one so I kissed her on the cheek and stumbled back out into the alley lookin' for a neon coctail glass...