is expecting me. I knock on the back door. No reaction inside. I reach for the doorknob; it's open. I walk in. No one in sight. I look around, still finding no one. I walk up a set of stairs. Still, no warm bodies. Finally, I arrive at a dressing room door. Once again, I knock. Someone opens the door. Keen is walking toward me holding a plate of tossed salad. I introduce myself. He starts to offer a handshake, only both hands are occupied. I explain that I'm the guy who's writing a book and is supposed to be interviewing him tonight. I tell him I'm early and can talk to him any time before or after his concert, still well over an hour away. Please don't let me bother you, I say. By all means, sit down and enjoy your supper. While this little awkward exchange is going on, I notice a man heading our way from the opposite end of the room. He intercedes and asks my business. I tell him I'm here to interview Robert Earl Keen, but I'm in no hurry and will be glad to wait until it's convenient.
