Horses

I found my seat in the Royal Oak Music Theater, next to a bald guy in the middle of the room. We exchanged greetings and waited for Patti Smith to take the stage.

My appreciation for her music goes back years to high school when a friend first introduced me to Horses, and I instantly fell in love. So, sitting here now felt almost unbelievable—in a foreign land I hadn't even planned on visiting. I was living in Toronto when I saw that she would be playing in Detroit. I bought my ticket, applied for a visa, and as soon as I got it, I decided to hitchhike once again. Spring was trying to break through, but winter was still clinging on—cold and gray.

She walked out on stage and greeted us by saying that she had recently visited Poland, and that everyone must go there because it’s so beautiful. How strange it felt to be here, listening to her praise my home country, a place I had been trying to escape, as somewhere I should visit.

Anyway, the concert was amazing. She was older, but still had the power to energize the crowd. Good old punk never dies. I even got an autograph and became friends with the bald guy. We ended up in a bar, drinking and talking about the Beat Generation in the once-great industrial city of Detroit. I tried to hitchhike back to Toronto but failed miserably and ended up on a night bus, thinking about the first time I heard Horses.

Everybody was talking about the moon. A man had walked upon it, but I hardly noticed.

Just Kids, Patti Smith 

Detroit, 2017