in the hurried experiments of vehicles on highways, stuck in rusty gusts of exhaust, timed by boss's clocks, success's measure of activity. if you count them, you could only barely number the blurry rushing sound of engines and every large vehicle is only three feet away from the outstretched hand, across the yellow line on pavement.

And on another slab of pavement, I upwards of nine to twelve birds, flying so low that the beat of the wings put me in open-mouthed enjoyment. "I've never seen/heard that in my life!" (So different from the flying cars beside me in commuting hours)

If you were here, i wonder what normal conversation we would ahve? Would you like this folksy amateurish political music? I couldn't believe it if you would. Higher expectations, I hope (too many years of classical hoity-toity lessons learned)

I hope we could chuckle together at attempts... nothing wrong with violin and piano jamming - it's just that.... in front of a microphone in a classy restaurant... it seems like a shame.