Da-da-da-da, da da da da da, da-da-da-da, da da da da [hums beginning riff of “Life in the Fast Lane”].

The crowd loses their fuckin’ minds.

And I get it, that’s a kickass fuckin’ song.

But I can feel Preacher’s laser beam gaze searing through me as he’s lookin’ at Tim, not because he goes off set, which also is not okay, but because Tim’s message is far from lost on Preacher.

Tim stops playing when it comes clear Preach isn’t gonna jump in for the next bar, and Jesus…

Tim doesn’t back down.

He goes again.

The audience thinks this is a schtick. They’re now in a goddamn frenzy, they want us to do that song so bad they’ll tear the house down for it, and what’s hitting us is a brick wall of sound.

Preach has no choice.

He jumps in.

Tim sings and he’s practically channeling Henley.

We had a good sound system, but man, we were nearly drowned out with the crowd singing with us to that song.

I don’t know how many songs we had left after that.

I just know, there were a lot of them.

And still, when we got offstage, Preach doesn’t even hand his guitar off to a roadie.

He’s got his fingers wrapped around the neck and he backs Tim into the wall of the hall and gets in his face.

“Not cool, brother,” he says.

And Christ.

Tim still doesn’t back down.

He replies, “I know.”

We all knew something was off with Preacher.

He didn’t tell us what it was.

And that was on him.

But we knew there was something and we didn’t push, didn’t even ask.

[Lengthy pause]

[Quietly] And that was totally on us.

Bobby McGee

Interviewer’s Impressions, Recorded After Event:

Upon arrival at the cabin, the red Cherokee is again in the lane, the silver truck is not, but a blue Mini with white racing stripes over the hood and roof is.

Lyla is not waiting in the opened back door.

After knocking, I hear what I had not heard the day before.

The sounds of dogs barking, a number of them, from deep woofs to high-pitched yaps.

Lyla is opening the door at the same time speaking, telling someone to take the dogs out.

A young woman’s voice calls back, stating, “I’m leaving Bobby McGee!”

“All right!” Lyla says, dipping her chin and opening the door.

Over the dogs still barking, she apologizes for ending the session so abruptly the day before, invites me in, and as previously, she offers refreshments.

The gray cat is already in residence on the daybed, today joined by a tiger cat with black markings on gray.

As the day before, the gray cat eschews company; the tiger cat is friendly and welcoming.