At that time, I joined a band called the Roll-Ons, which consisted of me and five guys from Brooklyn. One of my favorite escapades was when one night, after rehearsal, we grabbed a couple of sixpacks, some bagels, and some Seconals, and headed for Fort Hamilton Park. Like a scene out of Saturday Night Fever, we scaled the catwalks and climbed to the top of the Verazzano Narrows Bridge! Up there we ran races around the edge and waved to the ships below. We almost lost a member when he nearly fell over the side, a mere 500 foot drop to the ocean. After mooning Staten Island, we climbed down and headed for the train home. It was then that we noticed the disdain on the faces of the morning rush-hour passengers. We realized we were covered in bird shit and must have stunk to high heaven.