Kindness I Suppose
These were the days pitched from morning straight into night, the days of vodka 7s in the shower, of you bringing the first good guitar any of us owned over and playing all day long— those broken songs it was, and lives too hard for us to have fully understood. A shatter of electricity, steel strung, sung in high harmony and real time. What memory lost to the shock of us growing old? What wood for the alive and what stone, likewise, for the dead? Two of the places I mean have now burned down and into a kind of ruined line. He played his last show to a half-empty Borderline, out of kindness I suppose.