The Drifters | Good Times
Every Thursday, when I was five, I had the same routine. I would walk home from school (back in the 80s, parents trusted their kids to do things like walking). I would do my homework. I’d have a snack. Then, around 4 o’clock, my father would pick me up for our court mandated visits. I’d climb into the back of his Pontiac, we’d pick up ‘the steps’ (mom, sister, and brother) and go out to eat. It was always somewhere cheap and forgettable, like Hardee’s or Roy Rogers, and then we’d go to visit my grandma in the nursing home. The music selection was always limited in my old man’s
