It was sometime during the Spring of 1977. I was in New York (for God knows why) and my friend Ritchie swung by the Chelsea and Bobnapped me in his TransAm, or Camaro, or whatever the fuck it was, and drove us across the George Washington Bridge into Soprano Country and the Wilds of New Jersey. This wasn’t the first time by a long shot. Once was to a Mansion he and his buddies ‘liberated’ while the owners were in the Hamptons, where he introduced me to Yes and ‘Roundabout’ on a GhettoBlaster set up on one of the numerous fireplace mantles, and another time, when he spirited me away to a high school in West Orange to hear some guy named Bruce Springsteen play a school dance in the Gymnasium. THIS time, we were on our way to a house party on the Jersey Shore, long before The Situation briefly lived in a broken condom….
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 