“So what you’re saying,” she said, “is that you’re really into your head right now.”
We were in the basement of The Knitting Factory. Chris Abad, was setting up on stage. I had just finished a three minute rant in response to Chris’ fiance, Megan’s, simple inquiry of “How are you?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “In a phrase, I guess I am.”
She politely walked off, leaving me to luke warm beer in a plastic cup.
Chris, Tony and Walker (3/4 of the now defunct Dough) played a spectacular set. I sat in the front row, tapping my Chuck’s to the band’s groove, one well-earned through familiarity and time. His newest tune, “Downer,” nailed something spot on.
All this time I didn’t mean to be a downer
This time I didn’t mean to ruin your day
This time I didn’t mean to be a downer
I’ll try not to drag you down
Drag you down deep in the dregs
I called Abbi en route to the show.
“You should see the sky. It’s just outrageous: all windswept, blues and whites, totally swirling and chaotic. It’s changing. It doesn’t even know its own forecast.”
“Neat,” she deadpanned.
I paused, scanning Canal for traffic.
“I’m sorry. I’m in that postpartum, post-gig space.”
“So… you’re into your head again.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping into shadows. “I guess so.”