I was born in Carbondale, Pennsylvania, where "making it" was a steady job and enough money in your pocket to shoot the entire V.F.W. a round of drinks on the day of your kid's first Holy Communion. 

A few years later we moved just north of Scranton, a town once famous for its anthracite, prostitution and burlesque shows until the coal, iron and railroad industries pulled out, leaving it economically wounded - but with a rich cultural heritage that shaped its values.

Backed by Northeast PA favorites Mighty Fine Wine, "Last night's cigarettes. . ." blows the dust off the things that often go unnoticed in a working class community: the people who live there, the choices they've made, and the ultimate price they pay for having made them. 

This is the poetry of addiction, of self-destructive nights in corner bars, of lives built around the oblivion of sex, music and chemically fueled escapism. 

It's the music of parking lots, written with the engine running - on an evening in May like a page ripped from November. . .