"Is he dead?"

The other morning I was awakened by a cop asking if I was dead. The night before, after playing with Earl Greyhound in Ybor City, we had set off towards Gainesville in search of a hotel and a good nights sleep. Alas, every hotel room in Florida was claimed by spring-breakers. Finally, exhausted, we parked at the edge of a Best Western parking lot to get a few hours sleep in the van. George was snoring like a bandsaw and it was a lovely night, so I put my sleeping bag down in a grassy field and tried to put all thoughts of hungry alligators out of mind. The police found me a few hours later and asked me what I was doing there. I told them that we were in a touring band and the hotels were full.

"Where'd you play last night?" he asked.

"Oh...uh....uh...we're in Florida right?"

"Right. You can't sleep here son."

I crawled back behind the wheel and off we went, four men in a yellow van, in search of coffee to clear our heads.