Philosophical Hussy

A Cure for the Blues - Zebulon

I followed my heart and he lead me to a bar, a warm cozy bar with all the right record covers on the wall and old crazy intellectual regulars chatting about things most people don’t understand. 

I bought my heart a beer to calm his nerves and caught the eye of a slice of inspiration I met once.  A fiddler on a Williamsburg roof on a balmy night in Brooklyn.  Awed by the moment we chatted and exchanged info, I planned out loud to see him play again. 

Friends arrived, good friends the right kind of friends for that place and that night.  We sat and chatted and groaned about things that ailed us, slowly with each sip and each ecstatic story of urban life and fucked up people we reached a point of feeling okay, maybe even happy. 

Almost drunk I exit the bathroom running into an amazing artist, an artist who you see in places that are virtual not an artist that you see in places that are real, like this.  He played his guitar and sang his soul and I cried cause it actually is moments like that that make all the bullshit kind of tolerable.