2 good for 12

the cool night air grabbed at my cheeks as i stepped on to the lawn, this was a secret between the sky and i. the couch was now in the dark lounge room feeling quite betrayed. i'd been flirting with it not moments before. but i was bored. indecisive. the couch was comfortable but nothing more. i blinked twice, took my hat of the rack and breached the front door. the sky and i now had a secret.

the station was not far, you could hear the motors softly wine as the coaches slowed and then accelerated away after trading passengers with the platform. you could hear the air horn sound at the level crossing down the line if you listened at the front door. the train would bear the first part of my desire. it was odd to be leaving. earlier in the day i had decided not to. but the couch did not satisfy me and the offer down the railway line suddenly promised too. so i made my way sharing my secret with the sky.

as i traveled the last part of the journey to my goal, i could hear guitars and singing. brought to me by the cool night air still clinging to my cheeks. the air gave as my cheeks fashioned a smile. i love music, played by musicians, in small dark rooms, filled with people minding there beers and there business. i gave the woman in the box 12 dollars. remember that number. i walked towards the source of the sound. leaving the sky outside, i walked to the fountain, filled a plastic cup with water and found a place to hang inside.

it was wednesday and the room was mainly air, vibrating, coloured, buzzing air. on a friday night there would have been more punters and less air. but tonight, mainly air. i listened and watched and tapped. i felt pleased, just waiting for a moment to grab me. then the warm, buzzing air brought these words to me direct from the red lips of sweet rachel.

'what your wife doesn't know may hurt her a bit',
'but your wife wouldn't do what i do in a fit',
'because friends we are',
'friends we are',
'friends we are',
'friends with deficits',

how poignant. at the end of the song i left. as i walked out the venue gate i asked the doorman 'how many payers tonight'? 'twelve' came the reply. it was too good-er gig for twelve payers i thought. along the damp pavement for the train again, i looked up at the cold sky. write that lyric down it said. so i have.