“Nah, man. Not a baby.”
“Be seventeen for Dead60. Play me some guitar, get me some tail.”
“I’m gettin’ real good at being Garcia, man.”
“Burned down my treehouse.”
“Got dishonorably discharged from the Boy Scouts.”
We don’t like to bring that up.
You’re the reincarnation of Jerome Jeremiah Jermajesty Garcia, formerly of a choogly-type band called the Grateful Dead?
“Yup. Fucked up, huh?”
Little. Okay, if you’re Garcia, what do you want to be doing right now.
“Soloing and heroin.”
Well, that’s the right answer. First wife’s name?
“Mountain Girl Adams.”
Close enough. How much does a guitar cost?
“Dunno…$20 grand? Around thereabouts?”
That is what Garcia would think a guitar costs, yeah.
“Told ya, man. C’mon, gimme some shit only Garcia would know. I’ll prove it to ya.”
Okay. Um. Ah: gimme your children’s birthdays.
“At least one was in the summer.”
This is actually a trick question: Garcia had no idea when his kids’ birthdays were.
“Still loved ’em. Someone would always tell me, anyway.”
Making no value judgements here.
“Phil was born on the Ides of March, I know that.”
That is both true, and the sort of thing Garcia would remember.
I will not give you a cigarette.
“–a smoke I can borrow? Ah, bite me.”