I was trying to get home from some midwestern city and the guy who was my ride said he needed to stop and meet up with some reporter.
"His name is Miller...someone Miller...Grant?" he said
"Grant Miller?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's him," he replied as he verified this on his notepad.
"I know him," I said.
We were making our way into a pub in the middle of suburbia and I started to worry. I had hours of road on me and I wasn't at my best. I knew I would be judged by that eyebrow.
The bar was panelled in timber and rafters and there were two rooms. The front room had a bar on one end and a stage at the other with tables in between and a buffet. We moved toward the back room which was separated off with a 1/4 height wall, and we found a table. I was partly annoyed because I wanted to keep driving and get home and I was partly worried that Grant Miller would discover I was a phoney.
We waited and the barman came around and told us that the Wing Buffet was ready and we could help ourselves. He turned and left and around the corner came Grant Miller, clad in a long leather jacket and baggy jeans. He was traveling with another anonymous guy and they joined us at our table. I considered not mentioning who I was and just keeping my mouth shut and remaining anonymous to him. But, if you know me at all, you know I eschew anonimity.
As the introductions were being made, I commented, "We've already met, so to speak."
There went the eyebrow. After a moment or two and a few hints from me the other eyebrow joined the first one and his face broke into a smile. We hugged and exchanged pleasantries. He turned out to be a very nice guy. At this point I realized I must be dreaming. I offered to fix a plate for everyone while they conducted their meeting.
I made my way over to the "Wing Buffet" and took a look. There was a large bin filled with chicken wings and many other smaller bins filled with different sauces to dip them in, plus a variety of veggies. I was a little apprehensive as the incomplete chicken wings looked a bit unsavory. But I took a few of them and some veggies and made my way back to the table. Grant Miller and his companion were gone. I looked out of the window and saw him pimp walk down the sidewalk.
I set the plate down and my companion announced he was going to "mail a package". Harrumph, I thought. After a while the bar began to fill up and I realized I'd been abandoned. I made my way over to the front room and toward the bar and sat down, trying to figure out how I was going to get home. I looked toward the stage and my view was obscured by a man wearing a Mad Hatter's top hat. When I leaned forward, I saw roadies setting up for a concert and I caught sight of the top-hatted man and realized it was Tom Petty.
"Hey," I said to one of his companions; he was flanked on either side by band members (I knew this because they were wearing long velvet jackets), "Are you guys playing here today?"
"Yes, but we have to make sure Tom Stays sober."
"Ah," I replied.
I tried to call Elizabeth and tell her she should meet me here.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said and went outside. It didn't really clear things up any. I started walking through this anonymous suburb. I made my way through a family reunion in someone's back yard. I passed garage sales and church picnics and found my way back to a house that looked like mine. And then I woke up.