by Zach Jones I miss those Marlboro memories, Smoking, watching silver screens. Call me from a phone booth late at night. Scratches on my LP helped me sleep. Beat boys jumping trains, Bumming for a bed. Now drugstores are disappearing, Drugstores are dead. Give me back records, Give me cassettes. Drugstores are disappearing, Drugstores are dead. I miss real life, I…