| It was my friend Sherry on the other end: "So how was he?" "How was who?" I stuttered. "Bowie. The review in the paper is glowing." For an instant, I refused to understand. It couldn't be true. "You didn't go? I'm amazed." Fuck! How could this happen to me? Bowie had been at the Warfield the night before, just down the street--how could I not have known? My heart sank completely. I couldn't admit to Sherry, let alone to myself, that I had missed a Bowie show, me, who's flown across the country to see the man perform. Sherry tried to cheer me up with "you've got tickets to both shows next week, don't worry, it's not like you won't see him!" It didn't work. I couldn't concentrate the rest of the day. Next week finally arrived, the excitement and anticipation eclipsing the prior week's disbelief and depression. I was treating Sherry to her first Bowie concert. Her excitement fed mine. We settled into our seats. "Do you think he'll play anything off 'Hunky Dory'?" Sherry wondered aloud. "Doubt it, I think he's playing mostly new stuff." The moment arrived. The lights went down. The Warfield went crazy. I was covered with goosebumps, surrounded by Bowie nuts. There he was, beautiful in the spotlight. "I'm closer to the golden door...." My heart cried, I hugged Sherry, I wanted to hug Bowie. I wanted him to sing just to me. And he did. I didn't want to come back to Earth.
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