It ain't fit for them, that is. Out there. This night.
Rocky afternoon, seems to fit with with the sloshy misery, standing water, wet frozen muck slopped onto windshields and walkers by passing pods on wheels.
I need to get out the chart for the first of two songs my quartet is trying to work up. We're meeting this weekend to start practicing. Last time I was so eager to get started, and feeling pressure to be prepared, eager to get in there and get on it. This time, I dunno, I just wanna hunker down in the late winter. With a fireplace. There is no fireplace. And I haven't cracked the music. I've plunked nary a note.
I kinda don't want to, tonight.
I'm running out of nights.
But it's so yucky out. I swear there's a connection.