This sky is a gray and thrilling misty menace that gives me a little seizing in my heart. I thrive in this kind of weather, all my hope and love and failure writ there, curling down through tree limbs. The sky is so close overhead the future fades away. Finally.
Last night I went to see Bobby Bare Jr. at Berbati's with the winsome Mr. Brown and an entourage of friends. Berbati's sucks, and I will never go there to see a concert again. Like I said last time. Like I will say next time. Still, bad sound does not dampen charisma. I highly recommend the company of Mister Bare, or even just an entourage of friends. Anytime.
The week before that I spent a night out on the town with (the pre-Tequilacontourage?) Brandon, Sybil and Vahid... and other nonlinkable persons Kevin and Chelsea (blogless as far as I know). Though the group was inspiring and the evening entirely blogable, unfortunately my computer expired tragically the very next morning.
Since, the memory is lost... because of the weather, which swallows up the past as well.
But I do remember Brandon smoked a cigarette butt out of someone else's ashtray. He gets 50 punkrock points. And I remember that Vahid waited with me until my taxi arrived... or somebody's taxi because on a Friday night only the bold ride in cabs and the rest wait and wait and wait. I stole.
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