Somewhere I Can't See

Stuck around in a crowded room wondering if everyone's all right, wondering if they're thinking the same as me. Most people are a dime a dozen and why can't that be just as true for sympathies. I get dragged in time and time again and I think I can't be the only one who's wanting out. But I keep my mouth shut, I know better.

Jazz starts and it's coming from somewhere I can't see. I think it's live but with speaker advances you can never be too sure. A woman sings something about love over cymbal and snare. I guess it isn't such an awful place to be.

I spy her, this redhead, in an airy blouse with some airhead dope. We meet eyes when she enters but that could be anything. I'm surrounded by plants and pop art and people with jobs. Everyone seems to know someone and I'm wondering if there's something I missed. We meet eyes again, red and me. Her beau doesn't notice and it's possible neither does she.

Every song is about love. Not just tonight, but all-time. There isn't a single song that ain't about the stuff, and suddenly I understand all about sadness and suicide and why desperate people do desperate things. Or if I don't understand I sure do sympathize, and that can be just as true.

We meet eyes as I'm going to the bathroom. She's alone and she raises her eyebrows, maybe she raises something more. I try not to think too into it, I try not to think too much, I think too much, it's s problem. Her beau is at a stall and I sidle up next to him. He says he can't wait to get home, he got dragged here, he hates jazz music. That's what he calls it, jazz music. I say he's free to go at anytime. He walks out without washing his hands. I wash mine hard enough for both of us.

He's taken my advice and he's taken red with it. A guitar rains down from a corner of the room, a bass steps in, a woman croons for someone she'll never hold the same way again. And whether or not they're here is irrelevant. That kind of thing, it's always here.