I just got a call from my friends in Boston. Another Thursday night and they were at The Pig, my old haunt on The Hill. Through the loud sounds of the crowd I could hear that my favorite guitarist was playing my song (it’s only my song because my name rhymes with the songs title, and since I started frequenting The Pig, I was written into a verse). As my friend held up her phone I could hear the song being played, and my favorite guitarist was singing for me to come back to Boston.
He then took the phone, held it up to the crowd and after telling them that I was on the other end, on the count of three, they all screamed my name.
It’s sad really, the things and people we have to leave behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment