Romanticism can be a disease. We could set our clocks by this talented poet’s state of inebriation. I leave his name anonymous. Typically, at sunset, one of the baristas would ask him to leave. Generally, he was a funny, sweet man with several novices at his feet. I hope he found his path apart from alcohol. Western art is fraught with conflict. I am thrilled by this characteristic. I share this romantic plague. I didn’t think I would see 30, much less 60. Most of my mentors burned out at a young age. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Van Gogh, just to name a few. Here I stand today. No doubt, a disappointment to all those dead guys.