I want to reach back to that San Francisco rowhouse, talk to that long-haired kid whose only goal was to get a real Les Paul and open for the Airplane or Moby Grape.
I want to tell him to pay attention, to enjoy the small moments as much as the large ones.
The summer tour with stadium shows and an honest-to-God tour bus, yes, but also the rotating bandmates, the county fairs and racetracks and house parties.
Look at that Les Paul now, every scratch and nick, years and years.
Marriage, divorce, children, grandchildren.
All of it here, then gone.