Viewing the very last recomposited episode, ending "Seventeen f***ing years", as Tony admired a collection of historic 'dope bags' through his nostalgic lower East Side junkie eyes, swollen with indulgences and alcohol, exclaiming in his soft, worn, gravely voice, “You knew you were doing something bad when you bought a product called ‘Toilet’ and shot it in your arm”...his existential despair surfacing like a desert-dweller, drowning...not having actually considered learning to swim in the great Sewer of Life Ocean, about which he so beautifully and 'knowingly' composed tales of..... i was drawn to this image, from the edits....'boarded up and graffitied over with strokes and sprays of alienation and contempt'....one that may have eclipsed even Bourdain's later cover tales of Life's bitter-tainted actualities...... Amusedly, he downed a couple of John Lurie's hard-boiled eggs, stared blankly across a tableful of Debbie Harry, even more blank-faced; and interviewed punk performers and post-lost-generation whacko artists, still obstinately anti-social and self-absorbed.....fade out......fade in for a lagniappe of Jarmuschian light-hearted documentarian cynicism.....fade to black.....credits roll....goodbye......to a maddening montage to the strains of Johnny Thunders’ “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory” .....as the credits be-come compressed to add a feed of 'coming attractions'........that was yesterday's news, wasn't it?
