Great conversation with the Rob Roberge we are. Kafka. The Great Gatsby. Panties. The Cost of Living. It's all here. So please do hit it. It just might change your life.
The temptation when talking The Cost of Living by Rob Roberge will be to riff on Roberge's knowingness when it comes to the tour life of the near rock star, the shabby buses and dead-end clubs, the crowd and the girls, the moments of rapture and camaderie; his encyclopedic knowledge of drugs and deals, oxy and heroin, hustle, dopesickness, and rehab, always and perpetually; violence, with fist and guns; and sex, of all kinds, in all ways, and in great detail, moist and telling. And it will all be true, because he knows it, or writes like he does anyway, and at that point what's the difference? Nothing, the Roberge can write, and so that's that. But even with all of that, and that is arguably a lot, what resonated most with us was the idea that the traumas visited upon us when we are young, and the adverse experiences that blanket our childhoods do not go away with time, they follow us, shadowing our every step, lingering, and all too ready to knock us on our ass, before asking us just how much we can take.
