Last night night after a long and rather crazy evening with the family I headed out to the Whistle to meet Andy for drinks. I didn't realize it was Sleepwalkers night, or old school oldies and lowrider music. Holy, holy joy of mine, I wanted to stay there all night and watch people in their finery. It was like being at a Chula Vista BBQ in the 80s. Old homeys, young homeys, women in pompadours. Very zoot suit-ish. J came and met us. Next month I'm dressing up and dancing.
On the way home J and I finally got into one of our famous spats. I was waiting to see when it would happen. It took longer than usual this time but I was for ready for it, having primed my inner chola and all earlier in the week. We paced back and forth in my apartment, circling each other like a couple of wolves, exchanging barbs. He can't hurt me the way he used to when I was in my early 20s, my milk teeth are gone and I can argue rather well. But, I can also admit when I'm wrong and last night I had to admit that I was wrong and he was right. He gave me a lot to think about.
I wish I could write a poem that made me feel the way James Brown's voice makes me feel when I hear this song.