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I found this nice little story on the Internet:
"My junior year the Ramones played Coney Island High, back when it was on St. Mark's Place, not far from where I lived. My roommate Tara, a heavy blonde from the midwest, wanted to see them.
Considering my size, I was never much for concerts-can't see over people and tend to get crushed by the crowd. Not a fun evening.
But I liked Tara, and I thought I would give it a try. We got into the small space which was packed by punks. Tall punks. I knew there was no way to see the stage especially since we were way at the back.
Tara went to get us drinks and as I was standing there what looked like a Red Wood in punk regalia strode over to me.
"Want a lift?" he said.
He had a thick Scottish accent, and I wasn't quite sure what he meant.
"Want to sit on my shoulders?"
Of course, it was the only way I would ever see Joey Ramone.
"Sure," I said.
I thought he meant to lift me up for a song or two, but he kept me there the whole concert. Afterwards, Tara wanted to buy him a drink.
"Not necessary. It's honor to help a wee bonny lassie."
I was about to ask him to put me in his pocket and take me home. When he bid us good night and strode away.
Surely to help some other lassie."