You know I feel okay.
As a teenager, I clung to the Beatles like a buoy in turbulent waters. My love for them has shifted into hard-won joy instead.
Even though more than 40 years have passed since I first saw A Hard Day’s Night, two scenes are indelibly etched in my mind.
The lads, trapped inside and required to sit in another room by their manager, push open a door and see the sunlight filling that space. It’s dazzling bright for a second, then they’re out. They stutter-run down the stairs, eager …
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