Alas, he was driving away and I had only so much time to ask him the important harmonica-blues related questions that have drifted in my mind in the case of encountering him. That being said, I did what any interviewer itching to kickstart a conversation would do, the same thing I imagine David Frost had written down right before he beat Nixon down with a barrage of questions that left him tacitly guilt-ridden, regretful of agreeing to the interview, and possibly/probably suicidal.
I shouted, "Hey John Popper! Hey John Popper!"
In response to my hard-hitting question, he lifted his two index fingers and waved in a peace-like fashion. It was then, and only then, that I knew I had gotten him right here, in his heart.
And, as he slowly drove away, I found myself asking the one question that I'd have to ask John Popper in the slim chance that I'd ever see him again: did he have to pay for two pedicab tickets? Because he's fat.
P.S. I was drunk.
"....right here, in his heart."
ReplyDeleteEven written, it's so dramatic. =)