Michael Hurley died last year, and wasn’t it starting to look like he wasn’t the dying kind? Every now and then someone goes, and it’s only then that you realise what you’d been hoping for: that they’d be the lingering light that death can’t touch. He was 83. Ten years before his death, he played some songs at a vineyard in Southern California. There he is, a worn roundabout 73, wearing an old polka-dotted mechanic’s cap and a wrinkled linen but…
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