A mysterious old man called Justin

I work at a pub down in Greenwich, London and today I had a very interesting encounter with a customer, an encounter I can not shake.

He seemed to be on psychadelics from the way he swaggered and swayed about, a suspicion his peculiar and plentiful of slurrings added onto. He had the apperance of a worn and torn rocker of age with a weary moustache and long stripy hair, black but fading into grey. 

I hadn't started work yet, so I sat down for a chat and we wound up sharing a few drinks.

He told me he and his band had just returned from a tour in Europe and that he had wound up in the bar because his bandmates were still sleeping at the hotel.

He ignored my request of learning the name of the band, shrugging it off with "It's not important." He let me know he plays guitar as well as writing lyrics.

We talked about music and he highly spoke of Gasolin and his friendship with them and particularly Kim Larsen. He also said he had lived in Dragør, Denmark for quite some time.