When I was a young kid, there were several dim lit coffee houses on the lower east side of Milwaukee where I lived. In those days, the rebels of the time were the Beatniks, who were dedicated poets of all sorts. They hung out in coffee houses, and there was usually an open stage for nightly performances. I used to stand outside and listen to them reading poetry. I was mesmerized by their mystique and charisma. They dressed like bohemians with no respect for tradition, and they had a reputation for doing drugs, having free sex and being radical. All the traits I was told to stay clear of. That's why I thought they were so fascinating. It must have rubbed off on me. I still miss the smells that permeated from their den doors, and I still think poetry is magic.