In the City

Beverly passes us the pitcher of Yuengling and says “I don’t care what y’all do, baby” when I ask her if Alex could bring in his guitar. Older but beautiful, wrinkled but youthful tending bar and singing along to Roy Buchanan’s “Beer Drinking Woman,” smiling wide at me when I start singing, too.

I’m not sure what’s next, really. Things swirl together steadily and I admit I can’t sit still. I rotate my bar seat back and forth with anxious hips. The three of us clink our glasses repeatedly, as if we couldn’t toast to life enough, bringing the foaming head of another beer to our lips in disbelief that no one's called our many bluffs, letting us entertain a stage even though our talent is rough. I can’t believe all of this serendipity. I can’t believe I’ve drawn these people to me, the faces in which I clearly see my destiny beaming back.

We leave the bar and I stack myself in the KIA with Alex’s sketchpad and instruments, giving the keys to Margie.
We queue up the music and sing, more, always.

We’re in the city
She came around at the right time
And if you’ll need me
Hope this was made for a good time
It’s like the run to all we know
Seems like we want to always go

To sit in the backseat is to feel weight lifted from my shoulders, letting my sister take my wheel for a minute so I can chill. Letting Alex sit up front so he can stretch his legs. To sit in the backseat is to leave the bar across the street from Fringe with a buzzing happiness humming on my lips, letting my voice reach the voices of my friends, letting our voices reach the highway streaming past our cracked windows. No one is timid or shy as we rush along the skyline, crossing the Fuller Warren, heading back to Grove Park where even more music will be made. 

It seems to fall out of us these days, colliding our vibrations by the fire until my throat cries out for mercy.
Until his fingers stumble drunkenly for a place to rest.

Until the final echoes hit the walls and bounce back into our chests. 

Focus Unnecessary // Our living room

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