Tied to a night they never met

"All these people drinking lover's spit,
swallowing words while giving head;
they listen to teeth learn how to quit,
to a night they never met.

you know it's time,
that we grow old and do some shit;
I like it all that way."

Lover's Spit (black sessions) ~ Leslie Feist

Mid-afternoon, with music stuck in my head, and the smell of coffee brewing in the next room. These are stolen moments when words criss-cross and light up my fingertips, while dreams still in their feigned disguises remind me of my hopes and fears. I discovered this song in a found mix, it was hidden amongst the familiar and unknown, the way most beauty is.

It reminded me of an afternoon, a saturday, working at Tower Records, in Chicago. There was this girl who was visiting from New York, and we had one of those conversations usually shared with those people you trust your soul with. But, sometimes strangers have that ability to peel back the surfaces, don't they?

She laughed and half-whispered a moment shared with a boyfriend she'd recently lost, and I listened. She asked about this band, and I told her I'd only heard them once, in a bookstore in Portland, and how the boy behind the counter with the pale blue eyes had told me the name.

She bought everything I recommended, laughing at how I now held a secret of hers, so she might as well take back with her some things I sang along to.

I have no idea what her name was, but I wrote her into a story once. and this song played, repeated, and played again, while I wrote it.