Hendrix lowered his face. So. Close. Then, in a low voice that I’d never heard from him before, but loved, he said, “I really want to kiss you.” Cue my heart attack. I was sure I was dying. Or was already dead. “Can I kiss you, pretty girl?” Dead. Dead. Dead. I was dead. And obviously, this was heaven. That or I was dreaming. Dear Lord, please don’t let this be a dream.
