They greeted familiar music they had never heard. A plurality of nodding heads toward old aural friends. Too many sharps, and an excess of flair. It might, in fact, be too good. It tastes like an evolution of nostlagia. A sepia memory colored over with sloppy seduction. Uncommon time and erratic solo voices offer the reprieve of prison bars. This stretch of obligation and responsibility has lasted a lifetime already.
4:29 p.m. - 2016-01-14
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