That’s me on the far left with a sack of some sort slung over my shoulder. I’m clearly wearing pajama bottoms or possibly some type of prison uniform. This was the 80s. I was pale and skinny, but not even remotely cool. Morrissey would have wept at the sight of me, possibly forming the basis of a sad, sad Smiths song that never came to fruition about a pasty, young boy living in a gloomy midwestern town.