Tim took a cigarette, put it in his mouth. he looked up and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He breathed out smoke and the words. He’s gone then. Really gone this time. Yes. Yes, he has. Tim pulled hard on the cigarette, spotlit by the streetlight. I looked at him, hurting from being unable to help. He walked away across the road, through the sudden traffic. Rock and roll man, I heard. Rock and roll.