Thursday, September 16, 2010

Made of Stars

He unlocks the door and walks in. A horn honks. A gaggle of students walk by. The whiff of diluted bleach from the night before meets his nose and becomes more faint once he's fully inside the bar. He's the first one there today. 

Dusk grows. The straglers filing in become a crowd. The noise grows. Glasses clang. The cash register cha-chings. Musicians tune up. Conversation becomes laughter. The juke box gets unplugged.

The Emcee takes the stage. The mob settles in to listen and hear. The bartender works and listens with one ear. 

He never wishes he was down the street in someone else's club. What's happening here can't be happening there. It's unimportant. He knows the happenings of this one place. Right now. He's entranced by the soothing harmony and honest words like everyone else. He's encapsulated and feeling it with one heart like everyone else. He's listening with one ear and working his bar for everyone else. 

He's listening. He hears. He knows who is telling of something true about themselves. And he knows a performer. And he knows a phoney. And he knows his business. Right here. And he doesn't want to be anywhere else. He knows that whatever is happening right here is what matters. On his stage. In his place. And he's listening in silence like everyone else. He's working but he's there like everyone else. He's entangled in the musical web being woven on stage like everyone else. He feels a heart pouring out of their song like everyone else. He's working his place and he's there and there's no where he'd rather be than experiencing this moment with friends, guests, poets, patrons, strangers and stars, all.

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