3am, December 24th 1988, New York.

I was having a break from touring, broke my chances and got in a drunken fight.

Walking with the cop through the snow, handcuffed, I walk past a young woman in a black coat, black boots, also in a bakerboy hat. She doesn’t notice me though, it takes me a bunch of seconds to take my eyes off her and focus on walking steadily.

Rest of the night I was in a cold cell with a bunch of older men. They were also pretty drunk too. They butchered 12 Days Of Christmas while I turned over and decided to sleep, dreaming about that passerby. Only to find her again walking the snowed-in streets later in the day after release.

She was standing outside a nicely lit bar, colored lights, fiddling with something in her coat pocket.

“Hey do you by any chance have a match, ma’am?” I ask, my voice soft, husky.