If this were unique, or had a twist, or if it wasn't in the least bit predictable, this would make for a better tale. Frankie P, northside boy-singer-guitarist-wiseguy-skeptic, died ten years ago. A motorcycle accident, the curb was harder than his head, and he left behind three adolescent kids.
But it was more than that. Speedballs, horse, who-knew what else. In his last few weeks he was burning the candle at both ends and in the middle. I never thought it would happen to him...his critical eye should have kept him away from all that, but in his own words “I just can't get high enough.”
Oh Frankie! How we miss you.