I rubbed my gloved hands together and stamped my feet a few times. Sure was cold tonight.
I took another careful bite from the burger, trying my best not to get ketchup on my gloves.
"Guess I'll be your last customer tonight" I remarked to the cook who was wiping down the counter of the food stand.
"You never know" he replied.
An old blue Ford station wagon pulled up and a man got out and walked over to the stand.
"What can I get you, bud?" said the cook.
"Ummm....black tea - English if you've got it" he said to the cook, then he turned to me.
"Cold tonight eh?" he asked me with a smile.
There was something very familiar about him - dark and casual but with an intense sort of cool.
I then saw that his eyes were somehow piercing and distant at the same time and something clicked in my mind.
"Yeah" I said "winter's coming on alright........say, do you mind if i tell you something?"
"Go ahead" said the stranger.
"You're a dead spit of Bob Dylan - I mean, if he was older"
"Yeah" he replied "people say that to me a lot - such a shame when he died back in ’69"
The cook put the strangers tea down on the counter in front of him and joined in the conversation "I heard it was all faked" he said "Dylan was sick of the whole back stabbing music business and set it all up. Some say he's living in some quiet place somewhere"
"Nah" I replied "if it was a set up, he wouldn't have done it in England - too complicated"
'For sure" said the stranger "bad luck is all. Took too many strange sleeping pills he didn't know the strength of then his dumb girlfriend was too freaked out to call an ambulance 'til it was too late - There, but for the grace of God go I"
'Funny thing to say' I thought, then, out loud "Anyways, great talking to you both, bye now"
I made my way back to the tour bus and climbed into the cab.
I parted the curtains and looked back into the living area to see Jimi on the couch with his strat across his lap as usual.
"Should be at the hotel in about an hour, Jimi" I told him.
"Cool" said Jimi.