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I happened into the medical field by chance in order to make enough money to afford living in New York City while pursuing my lifelong passions for creating original music and character acting.

Working my way up over the years from entry level Billing to Practice Management, thus securing more income the higher I rose, the more lost I felt, being away from my beloved creativity and fellow craftsmen.

But then, I’d perhaps have never experienced what resulted in this fun anecdote:

Autumn 2001, around 6PM, having spent my day managing a Cardiology practice for Columbia Presbyterian’s New York City East Side office, while not writing nor performing music and comedy, leaving for the day, feelings of personal defeat in tow.

Columbia had four floors of medical practices and two small elevators to transport you.

I get on the 4th floor elevator and ride to the ground in one fell swoop.

Taking a step off into the lobby, an unmistakably legendary Keith Richards strode past me, in conversation with a lovely blond female companion.

What was so indisputably Keith Richards that day??

The man had 15 clips in his wild greyish black hair, shooting each tuft into random, opposite directions, stretched out V-neck t-shirt on his iconicly lanky torso, faded bellbottom jeans with sewn bandana patchwork, and an old Members Only jacket strewn over his arm. Larry Gatlin would be proud.

I unhesitatingly swiveled on my heel after him, and got back on the tiny lift.

To cover any suspicion, I started rifling through my shoulder satchel as though I’d forgotten something, while multitasking as a well tuned eavesdropper. Now I was a character actor playing a top secret agent. Mission: Surveil a Rolling Stone.

The blond made small talk about Keith’s wife being out of town on vacation while he fumbled through the pocket of his casually tossed jacket. Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds, and using his loosely hinged wrist to float a single ciggy out of the pack, he artfully lodged the smoke stick between his presumably nicotine starved teeth.

My peripheral vision was 20/20.

Without warning, a moment of clarity transformed his facial expression, revealing a second thought, as he began to utter in that classic, instantly recognizable international rasp:

“Mmm, I guess I shouldn’t—I’m here to see me doctor! Meh heh heh”.

And, with that—ding—the elevator bell signalling this fun little fly on the wall moment’s conclusion, as he and his comrade departed on the third floor.

The director in my brain excitedly proclaimed, “Aaaand, scene!”.

My role as “Super Spy” wrapped, leaving me with this delicious little morsel to add to my story resume.

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