The back roads worked again. Old North, came in from the railroad tracks. Like a speed train, balling from the east.
The winter solstice was just about to reach its climax. All the stars were covered in clouds, they went unseen. Life is short.
The lounge was quiet and calm, nothing like the blues of weeks ago. More normal, more safe. Found a circle, joined a party.
Sweet singer opener with a mysterious Stratocaster player. Foot pedals and wha wha's. High notes on that Townes tune.
Then bags, then pipes, then another alone night. Stay away dark energy, go to your own place, suffocate. Without air.
A wired night, twangs and Denton stories. JT is a friend, just call out his name, he'll come running. To see you again.
At midnight the place is a hush, peaceful and quaint. Someone owns all this, someone banks. Like a glorified high.