Sometimes a day feels like a conglomeration of Simon and Garfunkel songs. It’s the sound of rainy fog, vacant hollows, and poetic harmonies that pour longing and a patient strife onto the table and unswept floor. In between guitar strings, there’s an almost silence that gets eaten by another note, and another, until the song ends and a resonance purrs to completion. The tune would be comforting, except in the end it gets snuffed out and those ignorant to its complexities fail to appreciate it, and don’t seek an encore. Then the roadies (who think they’ve heard it all before) pack up the instruments and don’t think to tip the 20th waitress they’ve seen this year.
When that happens to you, don’t fret. There’s always a Sly & the Family Stone day around the corner!
interruptingcow 
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