the beat

I was up til the wee hours last night at a bar where S's band was giving a show. I can still feel the smoke on my skin. I am still blushing a little. Every time I go along to one of these gigs I feel pride bubble up in me, creeping up my throat. It's acid, visceral, how proud I can be of that man. Proud of his funk, his charisma, that incredibly confident talent. Several times last night I was in conversation with someone by the side of the bar and I froze, the way I always do, because S started a solo. The questions I was being asked fell on ears deaf to anything but that saxophone. Redo, ask me again once he's stopped. I am so proud of the fact that he's not going to.