The Pogues
Been a clean decade since you showed up to mass hungover but the sunglasses remain as an affectation. When it's your turn to toast at the wake, you'll take them off to punctuate the laugh line, before clinking with a coke-no-rum. As night's end nears dawn, you'll get stragglers home.
The Pogues frontman, punk trickster-god, and poet of the gutter died Thursday in Dublin, but the songs he wrote and sang have always transcended time.
