Speak to the sky, and he'll hear you?
Here I am, hoping that pneumonia takes King Fahd quickly, and I get a note saying that there's an RIP RICK SPRINGFIELD banner across a highway.
A moment of dread. Rick Springfield's may be curling up in his father's chair.
Nothing on the wires about Rick recovering from the recent bout of pneumonia.
A concert in New Orleans, long ago, the tickets unused because of a last-minute crisis at work.
Same for the Las Vegas show, he'd broken his arm long before I had a chance to get back to the town that had its head on straight when it came to rail public transportation.
I feel an ill wind blowing, and I find that even after all these years I am still crazy for him.
This had better be a prank, or a cruel suggestion to rip his music from CD.