I left the seat in the front row of the place with too many lights for it to have been that dim dripping in music from head to toe, from hip to soul, listening to my ears and their lobes ramble on incantations of unknown songs, enchanting nuances strung throughout their chatter like puddles strewn across concrete, like grey matter, like static but much more in tune with nature and far less understandable, weaving my thoughts through new-found looms stitching patterns of fumes, gasses, smoke and the solemn ashes of melodies burned alive under a nearly full moon, under skies that humm with the clanging arrival of moments to be counted, marked, measured, treasured for their value though it elude all reason because seasons do not lie except for early spring evenings when the lights are fading and the music you heard playing is quick to leave your tongue. It was all said and done.