“Sorry for the poor correspondence. I have found myself in a managerial sous chef position that eats all my time away and I’m still chasing those monkeys off my back while dancing with them and showing them cute little toys I’ve made….”
– Wallace Byron Curtis. …this was the last I ever heard from him. Part of a message he sent me back in January of this year.
(“Yep. Me too, tho mine play together a lot nicer than they did back then. I appreciate their artistic talent….” Part of my reply.)
By Cat Jones
Last Friday night seemed like such a celebratory moment from here. It was raining in New York, but I had a show that night, and made the rent, and was so relieved to have that settled. Wallace, on the other hand, turns out to have had a much different kind of night. He was on the other side of the country, dying of an overdose. He was 27 years old. Continue reading