"He's like a little kid," whispered the lady next to me as she watched Sam leap and whirl about the room in his royal blue kimono.
"Except for the Jack Daniels," I say. Sam is waving a bottle in one hand and a guitar in the other as he enthusiastically meets and greets his public.
The boys have gathered for a jam session at a suburban mansion and Sam is the star guest. The "boys" are all grown up and work respectible day jobs for Reynolds Tobacco Company, and despite their passion for music, they look decidedly respectible and middle aged.
Not Sam.
Not Sam.
He was scarred but never old.
God, I loved his lust for life.
