you look nice tonight

sitting cross-legged in the stone archway of the basement of la mecanique ondulatoire, a little bar near bastille, i wait patiently, eager-faced. gamine girls blow their cigarette smoke in perpendicular lines, absent-mindedly. the only thing different this time, than the other times, is that this time, julie doiron banters in french. if it weren't for the mistranslations, i could be sitting in the back of gus's pub in north end halifax. she sings about snowboots, mittens in november, & sunny mornings. she talks about her children's hands & i think about what i would write to her in a letter.

afterwards, i talked to the drummer, fred; i was very nervous. stages for singing seem different for stages for acting because you are presenting your self. i get disconcerted, sometimes. he has tattoos on the insides of his arms: they say "you look nice tonight" and "remember where we grew up." we talked about growing up in canada & the secrets of the east coast; both fleetingly homesick, i think we were grateful for each other at that moment.