“Don’t know, Bud. Three, maybe four weeks.”

“I’m mighty thirsty, Frankie. We ran out of water a week ago. If I don’t…don’t… Wow! Check it out!”

“Check what out, Bud?”

“Frankie? Do you see what I see? It’s, it’s… a gigantic music festival!”

“Get a hold of yourself, Bud. It’s just one of them mirages. You’re lookin’ at an optical delusion.”

“But I can see the front gates, Frankie. I can see the box office and the turnstiles. We’re almost there. Man, I can even see the service charges!”

“Just your mind playing tricks on you, Bud.”

“Oh, Frankie, you should see the bands and artists they’ve got for this thing. There’s 98 Degrees and Dave Matthews Band. Oh, Frankie, this is gonna be great!”

“Shake it off, Bud. There’s nothing there. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

“But it’s as clear as the scars on your face, Frankie. I can hear them, too.” Listen. That’s Warrant doing a sound check. And over there, is The Smashing Pumpkins.”

“Get a grip, Bud. Don’t lose it on me, now.”

“But I can see Billy Corgan firing his manager. And I can smell the concessions, Frankie. They’ve got everything. There’s burgers, tacos and hot dogs. Look, there’s Bryan Adams grabbing a slice of pizza. See? He’s standing next to the Warren Zevon T-shirt vendor.”

“What about water, Bud? Where’s the water?”

“It’s right over there, Frankie. All the water we could want, and it’s only $10 a bottle. We’re saved, Frankie, we’re saved!”

“Ten bucks for a bottle of water? Now I know it’s a mirage, Bud. Just a Fig Newton of your imagination.

“Why is that, Frankie?”

“Because Woodstock was last year.”

“Gosh, Frankie. I suppose you’re right. But… but…”

“But, what, Bud?”

“But how am I ever gonna get my arm out of this ATM machine?”