It was night time and I was standing in the driveway, watching John Mayer move into the house across the street. We were preparing to have a party and invite him over, which I was doing under protest. I think the city had insisted we host it. Elizabeth came over to help and I was complaining bitterly that I had to live in such close proximity to him.
The party started and I watched as he ignored the locals and hung out with his roadies. He drank a lot and then disappeared. We started cleaning up and then were told we had to go to his concert. We had aisle seats about two thirds of the way back from the stage. It was a nice, summer evening, apart, of course, from the music.
At one point during the show, JM staggered down from the stage and was being supported by his roadies. He passed our seats and I followed them out of the amphitheater and into to the grape arbor. I sat down next to him on a trellised bench. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles. He had snot running down his nose. He was wearing that horrible, green mankini and a Mexican blanket thrown over his shoulders.
“You’re a mess,” I told him.
“I’ve been watching you since you moved in,” I explained putting my hand on his shoulder, “You have got to get a handle on things.”
He leaned in on my shoulder and let me put my arm around him.
“I guess since we’re neighbors, I’ll have look after you.” I told him. It felt like the right thing to do, but I also felt a shiver of dread about facing what I was sure would be a huge pain in the ass.