Harmless recreation

One of the many joys of living in The City is that one can take a nighttime stroll and actually end up somewhere.

Pretty Lady didn't intend to be bad, really she didn't; she had her journal, and her current work of study, in her backpack. She didn't even dress up. But she did have a beer or two. Which was her undoing.

No matter how broke Pretty Lady gets, she can't seem to help buying more music. Particularly when the artist is in front of her, and obviously as broke as she is. She can attest that lovely Jenny Scheinman's discs are well worth the twenty dollars, for two.

Although she didn't buy one of their discs, Slavic Soul Party can always be counted upon for a Good Time. How could they not, with three trumpets, two drummers, two trombones, an accordion and a saxophone? All within spitting distance of your table?

Pretty Lady is afraid she did it again. That tap-dancing gypsy thing. Nobody seemed particularly to mind.

At one point during the evening, Pretty Lady noticed that there were extra drinks on her table; a pint of Guinness, and a glass of good red wine. She hadn't ordered them; nobody around her seemed to be drinking them. She wondered if there were ghosts in attendance.

Then, during a short break, the handsome Mongolian drummer came up and took a long draught of the Guinness. Then he took a large gulp of the wine. Then another pull on the Guinness. Then the wine again.

Pretty Lady has tried many, many things in her life, but that one surprised her. It seems counterintuitive on a lot of levels.

One of the odd things Pretty Lady thinks about, when getting philosophical in the shadows with good jazz and wine, is that experiences do not feel complete, to her, until they are shared. Of course they are impossible to genuinely re-create; they are so multi-textured, so unique to the time and mood and season. But Pretty Lady has her camera and her pen, and she continues to try.