Cadillac need space to roll.
- The Roots, "The Seed"

This is what I prefer to see, a band (The Neighbors, band of adept guy rockers with ever-shifting cast of players save one Allen) that takes the time – the time! – to espouse the rock aesthetic and m.o. of Yours Truly. Just back from an Oban foray (see, Blogger is a left coast operation so blogging after midnight means that you may not be into a new day, but hours behind in a Cali last day) with two rock & roll pals in these SoHo parts.
And what a bar it was. If the lights were not all about resembling shortie condoms dangling in circles I may have sworn the theme was Ye Olde Wild West, via 1985. If you catch this drift. I had flashbacks to clubs full of bad haircuts, shoulder pads, and not a touch of irony anywhere except in an occasional snark rock classic.
There was a non-drinking couple so resolute and silent, staring straight ahead that I was certain that this couple was mis-directed, believing that they were in a train station, awaiting the late-night arrival of a handy train.
But caveat, riders.
The 1 had a random act of not kindness but the opposite, unnameable and unforseeable, yesterday as it wheeled to a Chelsea stop.
A pop, a spurt, a stiff.
Frail biological love.