love

Flexible, charismatic, jet-lag lands and streaks of rain the tarmac, the club, the glasses of beer, the nap, the twenty minutes of honey-golden sunlight through Marcel’s living room window. A quiet through sliding wood doors. Heather and Kerry bundled under jackets and comforters that need comforting themselves.

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The room comes and goes and is full of people, and then we’re the only ones left, carrying our high-spirits through the air cold with exhaustion. We couldn’t imagine a warmer welcome. You can’t forget, so let’s keep looking at each other. Help me with this song, will you? And you, in the back, thank you for the way you raise your glass when you ask for an encore. Thank you for tripping over cobblestone streets to get here. Thank you for keeping cities like this alive, eating their way down through highways, taverns, churches, and plate tectonics.

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This one? I believe we were sharing dairy products on the lawn along the highway between Bern and Lausanne. Yes? No? The jet fighter is at rest-stop.

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And what a welcome we get from you, you big old lovely place, with your dadaist oops of history sliced into regularity, Calvinism, and theories of relativity and space-time inconstancy. Sold out at Klub Helsinki, and Room absolutely rocks the entire crowd two or three inches off the floor. We hit the stage running, scrape our knees a little, but the crowd carries us through.

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And then there a moments that are just like throwing a stone into water.