As I’ve watched so many of my contemporaries and predecessors pass and more starting to fail, the first thing that comes to mind is my own mortality. Iz the Wiz, Kase 2, Sin UA , SANE, Dondi, Stim, Solid, MR. ICE GND and so many more. Some were my boys (most of them younger than me) . Some I had beef with and some I just admired from a distance. With the passage of time, I now realize we NYC subway writers are areakin to World War 2 vets- a dying breed, taking the last memories of a defunct culture to the grave with us. I am thinking of Stay High 149 in his hospital bed at this time. His tag IMHO remains the greatest signature in our proud history and his saint its most enduring icon. I am glad I got to befriend him after his re-emergence and envious that I never got to bomb insides with him in ‘74.
I am also reminded of the man Riff 170 refers to as the “baddest white writer ever”- BILLY 167.
BILLY IN HIS PRIMEREAD THE REST HERE