Ok, anyone who doesn't get this is way too young. I can't believe this scene never made it into an ep, or a commercial or
anything, it's just sooooooo obvious, and funny. Well, I thought it was funny. Anywho, I don't own any for the Highlander
characters, etc . . . . Fell free to comment.
WHO?
New York: Circa 1968
"You really should get into it, MacLeod," Fitzcairn told his friend "it's the music of the future."
They were sitting in a shabby hotel room with orange shag carpeting, olive green curtains, and the nauseating
smell of beer. Fitz said there had been a wild party last night with nothing but beautiful and willing woman. He
had been born for this time: no rules, free love, and best of all, rock and roll.
"Off tune guitars, clammering drums and crude lyrics," Duncan laughed. "I don't think so."
"My lyrics are never crude," Fitz insisted. And then, when MacLeod glared at him with unmistakable dissent, he
clarified. "They are controversial."
"Right," MacLeod said slowly. "Controversial."
"The kids love it. I speak their language."
"Fitz, you are two hundred years old, how can you speak the language of the young?"
"Ah, MacLeod, they are sick of history, and so am I. They are interested in the here and now, so am I. They want
to hear the truth, and I like to tell it."
"You mean your version of the truth."
"Well, while my world view may be a bit askew, at least it's interesting, and don't forget MacLeod, this is art!"
Fitz said flamboyantly. And almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth the telephone rang.
"Would you mind getting that MacLeod?" Fitz asked.
"It's your room, you get it."
"Well, you see, I would, but there is this woman who seems to think that free love should come at a price. She's
been following me since Newark."
Sighing, Duncan did his duty as a friend. He answered the phone and, with a sigh, handed it over to Fitzcairn.
"They're calling for you."
"Who is?"
"Exactly," Duncan said, walking over towards the door and putting on his coat. "I'll see you later."
