Sunspots August, 1988: The intersection of Wooster and Prospect Streets, Crystal City, Ohio. Hot and humid. A lanky white boy in a black leather jacket and Beatle boots is feeling the heat as he walks downtown. He's taking in the sights and the whole crazy adventure of America, a place imagined through the fictions of Jack Kerouac, Jim Rockford, Theo Kojak, wide eyed with possibilities only imagined back there in the narrow grey valleys of Yorkshire. Now here he is in Crystal City, USA, and the sky is wide and bright--there are stop signs!--and despite his studied nonchalance he feels a lot conspicuous, a lot out of place.  He sweats his way across the incandescent intersection in his heavy black jacket and pointy boots. Suddenly there's a forest green 1968 Ford Fairlane, heading South on Prospect, and a ruddy face, topped by a disheveled mop of blond hair, framed in the glassless square of the open car window.  "Are you a drummer?" the face asks.  "No, I'm n