My dear friend Clifford Terry and I met there.  He and I both loved Visions of Johanna and would play it on the jukebox.  We would nurse our Black Russians, and not speak or allow anyone else to until the song ended.  Clifford was what one would call a “real New York character.”  He would tell all kinds of stories about The Village in the ‘70s.  I remember him telling me about how he tried to drink himself straight for the night, in order to get it on with his friend Ronnie Spector.  I believe it’s in her memoirs if anyone is interested. On the day her book was released, Banjo Jim ran into the bar with a copy, and read out loud to us all the parts with Clifford in them. We were like family, and were so proud of our brother Cliff, and loved hearing her version of his fascinating claim to fame.  His version is far meatier, by the way.

Both Clifford and Banjo are no longer with us.  But the love and goodwill they brought to those who knew them lives on. 

“The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain.”

Am going down country road to see Audrey.  Blue skies, some clouds.  Pass her and head back.  Sitting on lawn chairs by big red barn.  See odd ruffles in clouds.  Something moving through them looks like lasagna noodle.  Say, “We’re by the sea. Must be coming from there.”   2 more pass over then emerge from cloud cover, giant satellite, ship.  Not alien.  Government.  Am in house, apartment, duplex.  Government putting plastic over houses.  I realize their plan is to fill with water and set loose genetically engineered sharks.  Life has forever changed.  Run out back with unknown man.  Try to escape as corner is being sealed up.  Man with long wavy black hair comes to kill us.  Misses.  His severed head then floats quickly past.  A warning.  They mean business and all will do what they say.  Small craft follows head.  Shoots to miss.  me and man, (or Jodie Foster)  are on backs on ground.  Man straddles my hips.  Is given tweezers and told to yank off my index fingernail.  Am not scared.  He tries and cannot as does the person next to me.  They choose to sever finger instead.  Chop, and we’re in the kitchen.  Blue tinted hard plastic bubble around house.  No water yet but just know it’s happening all around us.  Member of group (4 or 5 of us) suddenly looks younger and more attractive.  Think he is somehow in cahoots with government.  He complains he is unable to do anything to bad guys.  Must kill something, fly buzzes.  Bird on counter.  Man kills fly.  He is one of us. Am on street in daylight hours.  Ask someone, guard on left can I go see my boyfriend play tonight.  Yells at me to ask woman on my right.  She laughs, “10 pm! no way”  I run into house and up and down square spiral staircase yelling about the unfairness of the rules.  They are chasing me.  One above and one from below.  I am a radical now and must be killed.  I know but I don’t care.  Sitting with guard and woman they give me drug from tiny baggie.  It’s put on lip just under nose.  It is brown and gooey and like brown sugar paste.  He gives some to other woman.  I am upset because it is the drug that prevents me from pain and stress during my execution.  I am handed other drugs.  I am relieved.  See man in room through window across the street.  He is alone.  The water has started to fill up the lower floors.  We put our hands flat against our windows.  We are touching and the same.  Am now in large room with many soon to be executed radicals.  We are dressed in dark clothing.  I am holding someone.  John Elway and another football player walk in one door and out one just next to it. ‘ It’s cool.” he says.  They are part of government.  Someone says, “he died with his eyes open.”  I see him.  I wake up.