Original wood paneling from 1973.
Same vintage posters. Some newer.
Redd Foxx. Wow.
Some original stage lighting. Some LED.
Spliced wires clumsily wrapped in black electrical tape.
Just look the other way.
Limited menu. Hope you like potatoes.
That’s not what I’m here for, anyway.
Good drinks. Surrounded by nice people.
Vibrance. Smiles. Anticipation.
Young. Middle. Elderly. Friends.
One thing unites us.
Conversations in E.
Waterfalls of sound.
Sax solos.
The keyboardist is killing it.
Lots of Steely Dan influence here.
Mild jokes. A debut song!
Drums never take the show.
Unassuming bass guitar.
But oh the lead guitar is a seduction in blue.
Harmonious vibrations right into my being.
Deep breath. Take it in.
I allow myself to tear up a bit. Be in the moment.
People sounds. Cigarette smoke wafting in from the back.
Just like it used to be, so it is again.
Forgotten familiarity.
The cute bouncer keeps looking my way.
I sense Special Ops in his past.
He moves like a jaguar.
Maybe next time, friend. I’m here for the music.
Every note. Every rest.
Every turn of the page cherished.
My first live music since covid cast us into silence and under a veil of fear.
Only cold streaming. Longing for connection.
Wanting, waiting, for this moment.
Ah, I wish I could have stayed for the second set.
Exiting with new friends, Ambrosia and Skip.
Lovely folks who consider me young.
Our link is a shared experience.
The bouncer touches my elbow as I leave.
I’ll be back, I assure him, leaving myself a nameless, unforgettable mystery.
I don’t look back.
My soul is fed.
