A guy comes sometimes comes to the open stage who has had a harder life, harder than almost anyone else in the room. When he talks from the stage about homelessness, he does it as if we’re all fluent with it. We aren’t. He’s the immersed one. Something about his face, when you look him dead on makes you think Sylvester Stallone was his father, circa Rocky. If he were a comedian, he’d probably lean into that, do ten minutes on looking like Sly, and the room would be howling. But what’s funnier, and stranger, is when he sings. Out comes Mick Jagger’s voice. Not an impression but that whole early Stones thing, the 60s and 70s rolled into one throat. I’m guessing everyone in the room is thinking the same thing: we just saved ourselves eight hundred bucks on a Stones ticket. The other night he pointed at me, “Piano man, where’s the piano man!” I joined him. Suddenly I’m Nicky Hopkins and turned my Instagram on. You can see it, proof that sometimes the open stage opens wider.