Thirty-Two Years Ago Today

  
I remember exactly where I was, who I was with, what we were doing, when I heard. If I rarely play a Beatles or Lennon solo song (since so much did I once play those songs over and over I can hear any song I want anytime I want in my head ), and while time and biographies (and my cynicism in service of my complicity) have diminished my (youthfully naive) image of Lennon as hero, hearing on the radio that Lennon was shot was such a kaboom the kaboom needs remembering every year.