‘It was February 1975. John Lennon opened the door to his lovely, simple apartment in The Dakota—a building on NYC's Westside. No publicist. No make-up person. No assistant. No bullshit. Just John Lennon. It was my third time photographing him. We shot inside for 45 minutes. We stopped for a quick bite to eat ("I'm fuckin' hungry") and he made the snacks. He did everything I asked for the purpose of my photojournalistic images. I was given no time limit. He took two minutes to write some lyrics at his kitchen table. Literally-- two minutes. “We're cool inside” I say. I ask: “How is the roof?” John: "Fuckin' fantastic! Great graphics. Let's go up." He was a great fuckin' dude.’
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