The Big Man
There’s been entirely too much death in my world lately, and while I am not big on sharing my personal experiences on that front, you may have noticed that I am all about memorializing the greater and lesser lights of note (to me) who may recently have passed on. But given where I stand at the moment, I find the following news to be upsetting and wholly unnecessary.
Fucking Clarence Clemons has fucking died. I write this a mere stone’s throw from Asbury Park, and it fucking sucks. (I sort of feel like I should wander over to Wonder Bar or the Stone Pony.)
But Clarence is dead, big fucking gay Clarence, the heart of the E Street Band, is gone.
Here’s Clarence on how he ended up with Bruce:
And Jungleland. In Passaic. In 1978. Fuck.