dealer. I owed Chris $200 for an 8-ball I had bought in 1982. It hadn't been half-bad.
"You have to pay me." The German thought he was a tough guy. "Or else."
"Fuck off." Paris was my city.
"You think I'm joking."
"No, but fuck off anyway." I had a black gang backing me. The Buffaloes came from the concrete suburbs. Johnny liked that I had told his manager to piss off. "Fucking kraut."

"That's right, you don't owe nothing for New York in Paris." We went to a cafe on the Canal St. Martin. A dealer gave us a couple of bags. The powder was brown. China White was impossible to find in Paris.

I was never friends with Johnny, but I loved YOU CAN'T PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND A MELODY. At dawnwe bid each other farewell with a nod. He went his way and I went mine.
Several years later I was saddened to hear of his death in New Orleans. I suspected foul play. Johnny was a cold stone junkie. Nothing could kill him.
Certainly not drugs.

Two years ago I found this posting on Facebook from Patricia Jarozynski.

"Many rumors surround Thunders' death at the St. Peter House in New Orleans, Louisiana in April 1991. He apparently died of drug-related causes, but it has been speculated that it was the result of foul play. According to the autobiography Lobotomy: Surviving the Ramones, Dee Dee Ramone took a call in New York the next day from Stevie Klasson, Johnny's rhythm guitar player. "They told me that Johnny had gotten mixed up with