Patti Smith is playing; I have a sharp image of me speaking with my sister. She moves the speaker closer to her ear to hear the lyrics, unable to hear them clearly (as punk does.) She comments that my experience outstrips her life in the ghetto; by finding Art I have made Life. I retort, by finding Life she has made Art. Then I come out of it and remember that I'll probably never speak to her again and I'll never be very Punk at all.