Imagine a seventies summer's day, cruisin' down a Jersey turnpike, Stingray's top down with the radio blasting out Born to Run. A billboard ad catches your eye and you think, sh*!, I wish I had my camera! The worn out images of the Boss are barely hanging on through the time-tested barrage of the elements. For you, it's practically like coming across the Shroud of Turin. You stop the car to pay homage.
The image of the Boss is etched in acid green, purples and pinks, all worn in but still flashing some brilliance. The background screams Born in the U.S.A., and your mind's auto- response is a somber "Glad that F*!#'n War is over."
But you know it's never over.
Flash forward to present day. The mirror hands you an image of a man who's barely hanging on through the time -tested barrage of elements. You whisper to yourself: "Lord, thanks for the Sixties and Seventies, the soundtrack of my life." You went out for a ride and you never went back.