Keenan groans it more than speaks it, a strangulated thanksforcomingdude
made even less robust by body
language: He has his back turned
and is rushing ten feet ahead of me
through the fertile arbor of the Page
Springs Vineyard & Cellars. It’s noon
and a brainpan-frying 95 degrees here
in northern Arizona’s Verde Valley—in
Keenan’s mind a natural time to have
just biked the 15 miles from his home
to this verdant wine-making paradise.
As he presses on, he clutches a bottle of
water in one hand and an iced chai in
the other. Both drinks are for him. But
what the notoriously reclusive rock
star seems incapable of exuding in
warmth, he repays in splendor,
by leading me onto a deck that
suspends, spectacularly, over
the languid waters of Oak
Creek. A tributary of the Verde
PUSCIFER
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