It must have been about three o’clock in the morning on the Bowery. I had already spent all my money on beer, and Joey Ramone and Arturo Vega were out of town with the Ramones, so I couldn’t crash at their loft. So I started off toward the office of Punk magazine on 10th Avenue at 30th Street—the “Punk Dump,” as we called it—to spend the night.
Suddenly, a Checker cab pulled up, the back door flew open, and I heard that unmistakable gruff voice: “Hey, Legs, get in. It’s about time you learned how to eat Chinese food!”
