|
I'm laying in bed with the dark, being bathed in the holy radiation of The Church of Jobs, and somewhere, maybe a row or two of little boxes over, someone (going from the hour, and the nature of our place on the hill, a temporary tourist migrated from the south) is playing music, just audible, and reminding me of one of my childhood's first soundtracks, or teasing me with memories of a regretfully unspent youth, depending on whether it's Agnetha or Kylie doing the singing.
"Friday night and the lights are low,
looking out for a place to go..."
Cheers,
The Dancing Queen
|