Tom Waits Growled at Me

By and by, I guess two minutes later, a white SUV the size of an aircraft carrier somehow squeezed into the loading zone.

I work in a hotel in San Francisco. Tom Waits's son (also kind of cool as people go) was staying with us.

One evening, around eight o'clock or so, the son ran past me at full tilt. I didn't think much of it. By and by, I guess two minutes later, a white SUV the size of an aircraft carrier somehow squeezed into the loading zone. Once again, I didn't think anything of it—people park humongous SUV's all the time.

I heard the door shut, and g-damn my eyes if it wasn't Tom Waits striding up the stairs. He stood for a minute, hands on hips, looking around.

I stuck out my thumb and jerked it over my shoulder. "He went that way," I murmured, star-struck as all hell. He growled something that might have been "Thanks" or something, and went upstairs.

I went home after and listened to _Rain Dogs_ and then _Swordfishtrombones_. It was kind of cool.

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