Living Legend

“Whoa…oh my, who are you, sister?”

Emma choked on a scream. No sooner had she tacked up the dead rocker’s photo, freshly sliced from the Ultimate Rock Countdown issue of Rolling Stone, than the icon in question began to rub his eyes of sleep and stare at her in a deeply puzzled fashion.

“Ohmigod…ohmigod…”

“Can’t seem to get my craniality in order, you dig?”

“ARE YOU REALLY JIMI HENDRIX.”

“Shh shh slow down little lady, this isn’t exactly my proper, er, cup of tea, ah hah. Where have we found ourselves?”

“Um…um um we’re in- at my house…in Plainfield.”

“Oh goodness, Jersey? That’s tough stuff, you know, I can’t really mesh with that in a cosmic sense. It’s dissonant, one could say.”

“Mr. Hendrix, I just want to say, you’re my absolute favorite singer. All the kids in my school listen to, like, Justin Bieber, and Lady Gaga and all that crap, but like, they don’t know about real music.”

“Did I meet you in Soho? You got groovy hair, it’s all the way down to your face.”

“I have to call Gabi.”

“No don’t worry about Gabi, Gabi’s on her own trip, dig? See when Gabi and I play music it’s kind of a spiritual thing and sometimes we take it to some far out places and we need a little time to re-tune our energies. Say, who’s that fella on the wall?”

“What? Oh um that’s Kurt Cobain, you probably don’t know about him. He’s my second favorite musician ever.”

“I can groove on that. So listen missy, do you know why is it that I can’t seem to move more very far in one direction or the other?”

“Uh, Mr. Hendrix, I cut you out of a magazine. I’m almost positive you’re two-dimensional.”

“Groovy, groovy. So what does a chick like you like to do in Plainview?”

“Ugh, nothing, Plainview sucks. Mostly just watch a movie or go to Dairy Queen with my friends and make fun of people there.”

“Dairy Queen, that’s a trip, baby. Sometimes, in Seattle and all, I’d get a chili dog down at Dairy Queen, and a root beer float sometimes.”