He was the next Jim Morrison. You could see it in his eyes, the very moment he caught sight of you at the barricade. You watched with such fascination, such adoration. And he loved it. Sure, he could have picked any other girl. But you caught his eye, dressed to the nines in leather and men's clothes, a young round face from a Renaissance painting.

So he sang People Are Strange to you, kneeling down at the edge of the stage.

Then he lost you as the crowd dissipated.

It was raining outside, the heavy thunder rolling in fast as everyone left the venue. That's when he saw you, lighting a joint as you stepped beneath the rafter of the bars exterior to hide from the rain. You were drenched, and he saw it as an opportunity.

In his head, he thought you looked like someone who could handle his crazy. A face masked by innocence, but beneath it, he knew just by looking at you that you had a few screws loose. Maybe a shitty homelife.

Just as you started walking to God knows where, he caught your attention. He waved you over, and with a gentle smile, said, "Sweets, its absolutely pouring. Maybe you should come hide from the rain with me, that is, if you're not already committed to other plans tonight."