Drivin', indeed. Drivin' in a taxi cab from Dirty Frank's at 13th and Pine, all the way into the heart of Upper Darby. Paying $35 dollars for the ride, still a lot in 2026. Yup, folks, that's who I was in 2004: always assiduous about trying to do the things I deemed worthy to do. Dawn Ananda Hulton not only lived in Upper Darby, she bothered to live in what had been Todd Rundgren's house. So that, now that I've finally kicked For Dawn into shape, we can all start talking about rock music in Philadelphia without laughing or reaching for aspirin. Dawn Ananda was a musician, with a band called The Nooses. She also had a fetish for The Kinks and Arthur. Drunken, skittish, with a rich mother. Jane Fonda look-a-like: "What's your bag, Klute?" And on that drive, I had no idea I'd be sleeping on her living room couch, hiding beneath a blanket so her mother couldn't see who I was. The footsteps stopped, briefly, near the couch, then wandered away. In 2004, such incidents and situations revealed the primary laws of my nature. The infinite complexity of pain and pleasure. The Bean Cafe on South Street, where I wrote For Dawn, was also The Ween Cafe. The proprietor was Dean and Gene Ween's sister. So, randomly, this one has a rock insignia all over it. And a Philadelphia one. So there.
