Im not in favor of faster, but there it is. I’m off routine and into the Red Rocket to see how the kids running my show are running my show three hundred miles from here. They call the shots, and I do as I’m told...mostly.
The new thing is not mine to manage, or critique. I’m an outside dog going to the vets, like. I’m not ultra urban, or even driving electric, into their version of tomorrow land. I pretend to understand, but don’t.
Still I go.
I go because Ray did, my own father refused to play, and there is a lot of him in me. But after my father died there was Ray, who led me out of the maze and into this thing of theirs, not his or mine...theirs, the MIC.
I go. The pace has quickened. I’m not in charge, I’m just a student teacher in the back of the theater. No more no less. I’ve got nothing to add, except presence. I’m on my way. Presence matters. I will show, and try to be the old man, I am. No more no less. Six hundred miles.
After all, I am their dog trained thing, and that’s that. I’m not a solo act by a long shot. I obey, mostly.
And it’s going to rain!