“My roomate and I had a close encounter with River Phoenix at a near-empty San Francisco airport one night in 1991, right after falling in love with him during a matinee of My Own Private Idaho, and spending the entire drive to SFO inventing lewd slow-jam songs about him. When we saw him, it was as though we’d conjured him by magic. He was unshaven, dressed in sweatpants and a hippie necklace. He gave us a head nod. We nodded back. Once safely out of sight we collapsed onto the airport floor, stifling silent screams and hitting each other until deciding to hide behind a couch and spy on him” - Cintra Wilson, GQ Editor on River.