|He was just sitting there. At Freebird’s World Burrito on South Congress. What happened next is anybody’s guess. Really.|
|I had barely muttered my affirmation when he reached up and put his hand on the back of my neck and pushed me down into a crouching position and hustled me toward the exit. I glanced around and nobody seemed to notice our very suspicious-looking shuffle out the door. We climbed into my car with Jack snarling ‘Hurry!’ over and over again. It’s a beautiful sunny day and pleasant Austin people are milling about; Jack’s anxiousness could not be more out of place. I was beginning to think he had lost it. Or maybe he was trippin’. I decided right then and there I would be his guardian through whatever trip he was on. I pull out onto Riverside and suddenly there was a sound like a gunshot; my car became hard to control and started bouncing around. I knew what it was, though – a blowout. I pulled over as far as I could.
“Don’t stop! What are you doing!?” Jack was in a full-blown panic.
|Jack decided we should use Santa Boothead Streaker as a distraction and he yelled “Come on!”. We ran up the side street into Travis Heights. As we are scrambling through the hilly neighborhood, I can see that Jack is totally whacked out of his mind; continually muttering about needing to find the Werewolf Fiddler. We rounded a corner and temporarily lost sight of the gunmen. The assumption would be that we went left since the only other option was straight and we would be easily seen. But I saw a fenceless yard on the right and dashed us through. I worked our way back west and we slipped across Congress near the Continental Club. We snaked past Threadgill’s and crossed the street to the RunTex. We blended into the crowd waiting to cross South 1st. Someone in the crowd turned and recognized Jack; he tried to give them the ‘Shhh’ sign but they were about to speak so he reached up and gave them the Vulcan pinch. They dropped to the ground like a wet sack of laundry. The light changed and we hustled across the street.There was a huge concert going on at Auditorium Shores, but Jack didn’t want to go in the front entrance, so we slid along the bridge down to the river’s edge and started heading west. Without warning, Jack stops cold.
“Of course! SRV!”
I look and see he is transfixed by the statue of Stevie Ray Vaughan. Jack spins on his heel and bolts for the double-high, fabric-covered chain link fence surrounding the concert. He scrambles up and over, lacerating himself severely on the way, and lands in a spy crouch on the other side, looking wildly about in all directions.
“Jack! Jack!,” I yelled, “It’s a free concert! You don’t have to climb the …” but he was gone, and I had to keep up with him, so over the fence I went.
The Shins stopped singing right in the middle of the “king of the eyesores” line and the entire crowd of thousands went silent.