...and we sit...and sing...and breathe...
The Brooklyn air passes through our lungs as we sing our hearts to the skyline. We sit and drink on the roof, Jed with his guitar, me with my congas, and we sing. Ahhh... the cold is beautiful. It's doing wonderful things to his guitar, and although the cold is messing up the conga heads, giving them a dead sound, the songs are wondeful. The cigarettes have done their work on our vocal chords, but we're managing. We get by. Besides, it's just us.
I love this life.