I have a rough time getting through the days. I get real lonely, and I miss Johnny terribly. I don’t like the idea of living without him. We were so similar. I didn’t have to repeat myself. Sometimes we didn’t even have to talk and we’d know what to do. He never had a father. I was like a father to him, a brother to him. It’s just not fair. Everywhere I look I see Johnny clones. Poison, Mötley Crüe. I could name a hundred bands that have a Johnny Thunders clone in them. I bumped into Keith Richards. I was walking down Broadway across the street from the old church, Grace Church, at Tenth Street. I’ve met him many times, but I’m just an acquaintance. I had the blues. I was feeling sad. He was just leaning up against the wall, reading or something, smoking a cigarette, and he’d seen me first. He made a sort of motion, showing that he knew we knew each other. It was very early morning. There was no one out, me and him, that’s it.
Of course he knows about me and Johnny Thunders. Keith’s the kind of guy that keeps up. He gave me this typical limp English handshake and says, “Look, Jerry, I’m sorry. I know what its like. I don’t know what to say. I wish I had a poetic answer. But I will say one thing. Somehow, I don’t know how, but somehow, hang in there. Stick to it. Don’t give up.” Keith really picked up my spirits.
But I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m getting headaches again. I’m not getting through my days too well. I feel exhausted. But I don’t want things to go to waste. I’m forcing myself to shave.