It was late at night. . .

. . . on what seemed to be. . .

. . . an early summer evening but was in reality, an obscenely unusually warm March evening.  Returned home from rehearsal and philosophizing with the boys in Oho.  Grabbed a quick bite of leftover pizza (not just ANY pizza mind you, but a chicken fajita pizza with a drib of Lamoreaux Landing Bordeaux blend to accompany) and headed off to shower and sleep. . .

. . . when I heard from across the street, the sound of an acoustic guitar and a young, blues-influenced male vocalist.  I would like to have grabbed my Taylor and joined them, but being quite older, wise and tired, I decided not, and simply reveled in the memories of similar evenings in summer as a youth and the just plain pleasant feeling that listening to that faint music through the open window on this warm, spring evening provided.

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