I have issues #1, #2, and #3 of the fanzine “Joe Preston’s Legs”, produced in 1992 by Justin Trosper, four to six photocopied pages each, no staples. Still in pristine condition, having been stored in a dark dry box for years upon years.

I cracked a couple of them open tonight and was instantly transported back to that singular and unique moment in my life, that summer of 19.

The thing was all tiny crowded type and a bit of handwriting, not ambitious, but very sincere and strange. Loaded from top to bottom with inside info and secret words and what was cool at the time in that place where we lived. But I was not cool at all, not at all.

He was so young and so was I. So it’s all forgivable now.