Why are you wearing a backstage pass?
“It is what th’ French call an accoutrement, me son. Little sumpin t’ spice up me appearance. Tells people what genre I belong to, dunnit?”
Is this your van?
“Legally or morally?”
It’s a van. There is no moral ownership of a van.
“Well, that’s where yer wrong, guv. One chooses not a van; the van chooses one. Much like a magical sword. Better ‘n a magical sword, I reckon. Sword’s not particularly useful nowadays, innit? Van’s good for all sorts of wiz. Live in it, drive the band in it. Vans can be converted into mobile dog groomeries, me son. Lucrative business, but hard on th’ knees. That’s what Going Mobile was about. That number The ‘oo did.”
Going Mobile by The Who is about the dog grooming van that comes to your house?
“God’s honest.”
I choose to believe you, but only due to how unimportant this point is.
“Bless ya, lad. You seen Miles anywhere about?
He was here before. Him and Garcia are off somewhere getting high.
“Managed several tours for him.”
You did not.
“Information you won’t find in any ‘istory book, but each word the fuzzy.”
Fuzzy?
“Cockney rhyming slang. See now, ‘fuzzy’ rhymes with ‘buzzi.’ From there, we go t’ Ruth Buzzi, and ‘Ruth’ pairs up nicely with ‘truth.’ Fuzzy means truth.”
That is absolutely not how Cockney rhyming slang works.
“No need to be all dolphin and chimney.”
Stop it. You’re just making shit up.
“Th’ Dead would take months and months off, lazy buggers that they were, but I preferred an honest day’s work. Or a bit of rumpy-pumpy. Whichever, I just couldn’t sit around. So in between Dead tours, I squired the Man With The Horn around. Complicated man.”
And no one understood him but his woman?
“Nah, they couldn’t figure th’ fucker out, either. He was a bit like Garcia. Loved ‘is fags.”
What?
“Cigarettes, you illiterate colonist. MIles loved ‘is cigarettes. ‘Ated ‘omosexuals.”
Sure.
“Accused me on the regular of bein’ a poof. Said it was th’ accent. Kept sendin’ poor Chick Corea int’ my room late at night to try an’ grab me willie.”
Yeah, he does that. Who was easier to manage, Miles or the Dead?
“You must be joking.”
No.
“There’s no comparison. 800 dodgy bastards with dope stuck in their beards or a guy who really wants his check? Tell me ‘oo you’d rather shepherd.”
“You talking shit about me, motherfucker?”
“Oh, ‘ello, MIles.”
“Who is that, Miles?”
“Shut the fuck up, you blind motherfucker. Cutler, you owe me $500.”
“Other way around, Miles.”
BANG!
“WHAT’S HAPPENING?”
“Shut the fuck up, Stevie.”
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