I was waist-high to an adult and an aspiring simulacrum of Michael Jackson’s style. (Picture a Jheri curl, pleather jacket, and penny loafers.) Then my aunt Maria, who was five years older, dropped an LP on the basement record player. “I said-a hip, hop, the hippie, the hippie/To the hip hip hop-a you don’t stop the rock.” Although I
Still Fresh to Death
Aug 17, 2023
2 minutes
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