![]() “Hey, thanks.” I sit and lift the pinkish orange mixture waiting for me. Thought you could nurse at least one.” He nods to the tall glass on the table. Yet a band is currently setting up on the small stage, speaking in hushed tones as they arrange the drum kit, speakers, and microphone stands.Īt his table, I tug out a chair and Romeo says with a warm smile, “Hey, April. There are five tables occupied on this Thursday night. As I walk across the room, my shoes stick to the dirty carpet. The stage is tiny, and the ‘dance’ floor in front of the stage much smaller. Yet here I am again in a dingy bar to see a local band.Įven in the dim light, the tiles overhead are a dark, stained yellow. Back then, music was my life and connected to every emotion. ![]() I don’t have playlists, songs to pump me up or remind me of a past affection, at least not since high school. Now music is background noise, a popular radio station to fill in the silence while studying or cleaning my apartment or driving in the car. ![]() Once upon a time, I used to be a music fanatic-breathed, lived, and luuuved it. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |