Right now at 2+am
The hour is after bar close. But none I know were there tonight. Instead we followed enticement to bonfire and communal painting. The evening goes beyond that. I steal the use of a computer unit as music happens. I am not one to jump on the mess of instruments adding to the room’s decor. instead I take my inspired movement to these keys. And click click click. Ready to leave better of an hour ago. But a roomate was taken to the drums and has since been swayed to hold his stool seat. I am not to deny art. Nor will I soon pass it by. No. I sit click listen hear am ready and there as it goes and comes but I will be here and it continues to happen. The roomie who sees not fit to tap our skins of the ever available home set has found himself quite the comfortable one upon the garbage pail contraption of a beat kit kept here. As much as five but the moment hosts three in count of musician. If or not they are separate song or just pauses of breath and praise between the solitary work of the night’s show. In and out spectators make way. To the fire, to the tunes. We get slow. Take it down two notches. Take it up. Let us be on with the loud. In sax drums piano, three very different things are happening. Three very different things are agreeing in an argument that none but all have the edge. the additional urgency of 1.5 drummers takes presence. A stick, a single one, into the hand of the audience is taken up into the cluster of right now. And it goes heard. Broke. We lull. Slow. Finish. The cellulars climb from pockets to press their faces against thumbs to swallow numbers that will ensure such encores of more and more to come. And the set is reassemled to whatever the pile that it was. And he talks to me. And we go…