I never went to see him in concert again, though he came back to town several times. I don't know what I was afraid of. Him not remembering me. Ruining the memory. Never being able to top that first story. Or just being reminded that I was still living in the same place, indulging in the same patterns, and not "facing myself" at all.
Now, of course, I wish I had gone to see him.
What few news reports I could find said his body lay in his car for a few days alone, down a remote California ravine.
I thought about those snake-like legs in soft pants.