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I walked down Polk Street last night, headed toward a show at Hemlock Tavern. You would think that I, of all people, would know well enough that shows always start at least half an hour after they say they will. Having arrived on time (read: 45 min. early), I took a stroll around the block.

The past is a grotesque animal… and in its eyes you see…

As I walked north, it felt as if I were walking back in time. I passed Kimo’s, the dive bar where we had our first show. I was so young, inexperienced and unfamiliar with the city back then. Half a block further was Myconos, the Greek restaurant where I salivated over large spanakopita in the window before our gig… It wasn’t until a year later when I moved to the hood that I finally scored a piece.

…how completely wrong you can be…

At Hemlock, I met up with a good friend and former editor of West Coast Performer Magazine. She hired me after I quit my job at the Federal Reserve Bank and sought a career change. I really owe her a lot for giving me the chance to transition. We were there to see the last show by Raised By Robots, a cool local band that my band performed with when they first started doing shows. It was a big night of old faces and untold stories.

The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday…

I don’t recall the last time hours sped by so quickly. As we stood outside talking, hassled by at least four hobos and a drunk (“women-dominated society… wait for it”), closing time passed and bars cleared out. I dropped her off at her place and got home at three in the morning. And a night with no plans ended as one filled with great meaning and life.

Makes you wonder… why it bothered.

Recently, I discovered the most meaningful relationships in my life take at least a year to develop… where only the most resilient remain firmly rooted in place.