Johnny 'Walk 'n Rock' is on the run and tonight he's either staying at the Super 8, which is where I'm standing, or the Pasadena 64 down the street - which I heard is exponentially better. I have a picture of him in a slightly bent manillla folder and he will not being autographing it. I need it for my report. It's from the Walk 'n Rock '84 downtown showdown. He's caught in mid-stride, halfway to stage right. Both of his hands are tearing up the guitar neck and he's yelling some poetry. A large red, rectangular sticker seems to hold the front and bottom panel in place. TNT. It's dynamite.
I ask the lady at the front desk if she's seen this man.
"Oh my God. I love him." Her hands naturally move together and her sweet mid-life smile lightens up a few years. "Is he staying here tonight? My boss said someone special was booked but he couldn't tell me. I wouldn't hurt him! Do I look dangerous?"
"No, you look sweet. "
Damn it. This is too much like No Counry for Old Men. Next.
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