Michael Hurley prose cum interview

Found on the furious.com website - Mike Hurley writes almost elegiacly about his life as a younger man (bonus: Hurley album cover discography):::

I wandered in NYC and hung out in the village. I was interested in Beatniks because they didn't have to go to school and got to drink wine and they were cool. After awhile, of course, I began to see through all this and went back on the rural route where I lived in a tepee in our own hipster campground. We called it the Cook Camp. I had this girlfriend I'd met in Greenwich Village when we were working for the same music agent and promoter, the African American Peter Outlaw. My girlfriend, I called her Pasta. When winter came about we rented a small house in Lambertville, New Jersey for $25.00 per month. Pasta got a job as a waitress in The New Hope Diner, a steel joint. I bought a 1951 Plymouth station wagon and picked apples in a Bucks County orchard. In my '51 Plymouth I'd go and pick up Pasta when she got off work in the middle of the night. She'd be dressed in her white waitress dress. Neither of us had any idea of how beautiful we were. We didn't know that they should have been making a movie about us, but at the time they didn't know either. We drew practically no attention at all. Except every once in awhile some weirdo would hit on Pasta. But she was so tough and savage that she would teach them to leave her alone. We smoked cigarettes. I have no idea what we would be talking about as we drove by the highway side (4), but I believe she loved me like a woman who wants to have babies would. Her white waitress dress had a small red polyester bib in the front. She wore red lipstick. Her hair was black.

We saved up a bunch of money and went to Mexico in that damn '51 Plymo. We weren't sure if the Plymo would really last out the trip or not, but one day when we were driving past Buddy Williams diner on highway 202 I noticed how confident it seemed at 35 mph. I mentioned this to Pasta and she agreed; "Yeah we could go all the way to Mexico in this if we just go 35 mph!!" and this proved to be the truth. The rig went to Mexico all through the Sierra Madres, Durango to Mazatlan, and back up through Texas and up to Cleveland where Pasta was from and back to Bucks County where she went back to work at the New Hope Diner. We went and found another cheap rental. An apartment built in a barn in Lahaska, Pennsylvania near highway 202. Bucks County was filling up with freaks who wanted to party all the time and pick the blues like Mississippi John Hurt and Lightnin' Hopkins. So this did not deter my wishes too much. That winter we moved to Philadelphia and rented a small apartment for $25.00 per month. There Daffodil, our first child, a girl, was born. Then moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts where she hatched out two more rugrats, boys, we named them Jordan and Colorado. By this time, of course, I began to grow weary of Pasta's surly and unremitting ways, so I went up to Vermont and began to study auto mechanics. She took the kids and drove to California in another '51 Plymo I gave her. This one was in much better shape, allowing her to achieve speeds of 55 to 65 mph just like regular folks.