One night while taking tickets at the Greek Theatre, I noticed a teenage co-worker having an argument (although she appeared to be the only one arguing,) with a man behind the turnstile. I went over to see if I could lend a hand and asked what the matter was. The exasperated teen was trying to get rid of the man who wanted to see Chaka Kahn but didn’t have a ticket to the sold out show. I looked at the little chap with flaming died red hair, pale skin and gentle eyes, and saw that it was Johnny Rotten from the Sex Pistols. I was a sucker for the Pistols and Johnny had the face of an angel, so I took his hand and brought him to a vacant seat in the front row.
"Thank you love," he whispered to me.