Last night more than a dozen of us sat around a backyard campfire drinking everything under the rusty moon. There was dope, there is always dope around here. Some of the people had downed ecstasy. Ecstasy is getting to be as common as grass. We were born Free, Free as the wind blows.
A young man had hooked his laptop up to a wee mp3 player with external speakers. The little outfit sounded surprisingly good as it competed with the crack and flare of the fire for everyone's attention. He was trying to pick songs out of his mp3 player we all might like. It was not working. If the mp3s in your collection will not entertain people without being able to hit shuffle and leave the machine alone do not even bother.
He was a philosophical guy. For a while, when his machine was playing a pile of Bob Seger songs, we talked over beers. He told me, "Don't go to bed with an itchy ass or you'll wake up with stinky fingers."
I am not a big Seger fan. His was the music of my high school parking lot. not hardcore enough for me even in '75. I rebelled against that shit. When you have aimed yourself towards burning out instead of rusting Seger does not cut it.
Last night Seger sounded good as we sat there rusting, no longer looking for gasoline to pour on the fire.
I woke last night to the sound of thunder
How far off I sat and wondered
Started humming a song from 1962
Ain't it funny how the night moves
When you just don't seem to have as much to lose
Strange how the night moves
With autumn closing in