He wears a turban, a white robe, and roller blades. He skates around, playing his guitar with one of those mini-amps hooked onto his belt. He can be seen all over Venice, L.A. and Santa Monica, skating around, playing Hendrix, looking around, not saying much. I bump into him at least once a week. He's got all the makings of a busker, yet he doesn't ask for money.

He's at John Lennon's star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at least twice per year (the anniversary of Lennon's birth, 9 October, and the anniversary of his death, 8 December), playing Beatles' songs on his guitar and singing them with whoever will join in. He does this most days somewhere, as I understand it, and makes a living this way. He was doing the same outside a theatre showing the remastered Yellow Submarine a few years back.

Last I saw him (9 October, 2000), a lot of his hair had turned grey. I had never thought about his age before. He smokes. At least, he did then. This I had never noticed before. I recall him saying he was trying to cut down. He always seemed so energetic. That last time was the only time I can remember him saying he needed to take a break. It wasn't a very long one though.

He has a thick beard, glasses, and an acoustic guitar. Look for him sometime somewhere in L.A.

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