The night is exceedingly above seasonal norms in DC. It is in the mid sixties and breezy. This is the kind of night that in college I thought was full of potential, passion, ambition and hope. In the years since, I have come to look upon these nights as bitter reminders that life is indeed passing by me. This is a night like an inbox full of old, read and reread emails.
I got home from work, decompressed and took a shower. I dressed and hopped the bus headed into downtown Silver Spring, such as it is, and then schlepped over to Los Arrieros. I had seen a flyer on Sunday for a group called Chopteeth. They seemed interesting so I told myself I would go. So I did.
Chopteeth sounds a lot like Buena Vista Social Club with a bit more jazz. My ears are largely untrained and are seriously poor judges of character when it comes to defining a sound, but regardless of this fact, I enjoyed them quite a bit. I enjoyed them so much, I almost asked a girl to dance. Instead, I got some information on the band and went home. I am in a mood only suitable for friends and enemies anyway. I was poor company.
The walk home was pleasant, in a soul draining sort of way. I was numbed by the aggressively laconic atmosphere which had the effect of a stiff Arctic wind. It absorbed everything I could hurl into the night and then consumed me. I am not even writing this.
UPDATE: Music Good, Food Bad! So, so, bad.