In 1990 I'm married and new to St. Louis. After the first night's show, a tall well-dressed black man approaches and offers his hand, "I'm Ron Rainey. I've heard all about you on the road. We're going to do some partying this week. I got some uncut cocaine and—"

I cut him off. "Ron, I don't drink or drug anymore."

Ron's smile didn't drop one millimeter, "That's okay. I got al line on some honeys here."

"I'm married Ron."

He didn't lose one gram of cool as he said, "Looks like we won't be seeing much of each other this week."

I said, "I guess not."

With the same enthusiasm he began the conversation Ron said, "Well, it was nice meeting you. Enjoy your stay in St. Louis."

He shook my hand I never saw him again.