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Traffic Stopper before/after I sat in the window of the coffee shop friday night, a wonderful two hour jam with a stranger ahead of me, connecting well on music, guitar, realizing how far I've come, and outside the city energy zanged back and forth, people everywhere, small town city run amok with visitors and festival. Dressed all in black, I sat on the couch, lovingly strumming a borrowed guitar, deep resonant sound, deep understated red gibson. Traffic snarled outside in the street. Playing a blues riff, I looked up to see a women in mini-van, hand on head, staring at me affectionately as I played. I casually looked away and slowly, after an interminable time, looked again, used to such faces as my time allowed me, to come and go, disappearing, the hobgoblins of memories past, to their own stories, their own poetry of life. And to my surprise, she was still there, in her gray minivan, dark eyes, raven hair, head on hand, watching me. Traffic had uncoiled in front of her and cleared clean on out, no cars in front of her whatsoever. I made eye contact, and eventually this roused her. She stirred from her reverie, to see the abscence of automobile, looked back at me, grinned broadly and waved. Not missing my beat, I waved back. She said, "SO CUTE!" as she gripped the wheel and drove off. Thank you, whoever you are. Better than sex. (How do you like that? My sex appeal stopped traffic.)
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