biographical info
"I'm a poor, drunken orphan with nowhere to go but the grave," wailed a waifish and non-plussed Mr. Chris Funk as he lay supine by the railroad tracks. The crate of records he had been cradling in his nubile appendages now lay in pieces on the ashen ground, his complete collected recordings of sixties psychedelic luminary Rick "Paisley Dave" Rigmore scattered hit her and yon like so many dead leaves beneath a diseased elm. Noting his neglect to accredit this phrase to its rightful owner, chief engineer Jenny Conlee, her accordion neatly strapped to her back, stepped lightly from the caboose and corrected his negligence with the aplomb only an immigrant Hungarian could muster: "Dylan Thomas, sir! Please move along!" But it was too late: an indelible bond had been soldered in that moment of recognition.