Henry Rollins and I will never hangout and smoke pot together. But in the dream I had the night after seeing him perform a two hour 'spoken word' at the Bearsville theater near Woodstock NY, we got along marvelously and I seemed to be in charge of his coat and ride as he bopped in between black clad aesthetes reveling in his innate coolness. 
Up close live, he's a bundle of anger, humor and uneasy energy that doesn't belie an almost fifty year mortal coil. A simple gray t-shirt and pair of dickies are testament to an underlying physical presence that houses a set of tatooed pipes attached to a taught chest. The only thing I recall from a Rolling Stone interview over a decade ago was how annoyed he was at the reporter for being late and messing with his workout regimen. Fortunately he just met the ten minute late rule, so as not to rouse my own internal ire of the moment. I didn't start laughing and buying his schtick the moment he graced the stage however.
Instead I was waiting to pounce on whatever political he revealed after expressing his relief at being in front of the enlightened Woodstock set.