Out front, the crowd was still clambering to get in. Bonnie and I spotted a massive stretch-limo down the street. We also spied Christina leading MTV Live's Aliya-Jasmine Sovani and a camera crew through the adjacent parking lot. What luck! We followed them through puddles and into a back alleyway. There we waited amidst dumpsters for the star of the show to arrive.

In the alleyway, Aliya is waiting with a little girl. The girl has a painting she made for Tommy, and together they plan to give it to him. One lone fan stands across the lane, biding her time. The back door opens and out come several huge men, their leader in a trench coat with a cigar between his teeth. The leader absently kicks at a soggy piece of cardboard. Headlights illuminate the scene and Tommy's limo pulls up to the curb.

This is it! My first night out and I'm already going to meet the man of the hour. What a success this night has been. It's definitely mission: accomplished.

But then Tommy gets out of the car.

Tonight, here in this alleyway behind the club, Tommy is forty-three and tired. His skin seems more like hide, tanned and branded. His many tattoos look vibrant but there's no light in his eyes. He's dressed like the punk kid with the skateboard down the end of my street. The man with the cigar leads Tommy by the elbow as though he were blind. The lone fan shouts - "Welcome to Toronto, Tommy. You rock!" - but Tommy doesn't hear. The little girl gives him her painting and together they pose for a photograph, but Tommy doesn't seem to know where to look. Aliya is interviewing him, asking him if he thinks vinyl is dead, yet he can't seem to formulate a coherent response. The man with the cigar takes him inside.

It's easy to blame rock and roll. The hard life of drugs, booze and groupies has left many a musician wizened and broken. But this seemed to me like something else. To me, Tommy seems less a mover and a shaker on the scene than he does a glorified outsider. I think, perhaps, he entered this world full tilt and unprepared, and it's left him dazed - albeit incredibly successful. I see him shuffling through a mass of cell phones, mindful of nothing. I imagine his escape velocity was so momentous that instead of achieving a steady orbit he's found himself hurtling through the far reaches of outer space. He's a rocket what must've exploded a few too many times.