When I was in 7th grade, I saw a report on some news show about this guy who played guitar and piano. He was high energy, wrote great songs about the mean streets, laughed a lot on stage, had a bunch of fantastic players in his band.
I remember going to my best friend's house to play, and told her about the news program I had seen. I reenacted something he did, where he was playing his guitar and jumped up on the grand piano and laid down on his back with his legs flailing and kicking around. In doing so, I broke her bed when I went up in the air and landed on my back... and boy did we get in trouble.
Tonight he is in Boston, sound checking for his show at Fenway Park. My friend J is listening and commenting about it on Facebook, torturing me. Making me completely jealous. I've never had the honor of seeing him live. I would love to. I would really love to.
Instead, I have to live with the memory of breaking my friend's bed, and listening to his music in the summer time, drinking beer in the soft summer rain while hanging out with my best friends on the mean streets of Huntington NY.