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I was dead inside.

I was asleep, in the upstairs bedroom, in the rear of the house. There was this tremendous crash, there was a terrible wind force hitting my body, and then I blanked out.

I needed to run away in order to come home.

I almost died, secretly, behind closed doors.

I was a bit of a sleeper-inner.

I was out of my bed in one second, trembling with excitement, and I dashed to the door and into the adjoining room, where I could watch the streets below from the windows.

I can't imagine anything worse than being just left alone, scared out of your mind.

I was 22 years old when I met Robert Johnson. I was there the night he was poisoned.