I walked into the bar with a mp3 player and a deck of rez smokes in my coat pocket, and a JG Ballard sci-fi paperback in my back jeans bocket. I had a handful of toonies that would ensure that the remainder of my evening would be easygoing and fine.
I love AC/DC. I had hoped, earlier this afternoon, that Sam would slip in a disc or two tonight. I wasn't let down.
I spent the evening floating from table to table, occasionally heading outdoors for a cigarette in the gently falling slow. I'd come back to my barstool and perch again, just digging the guitar and familiar wail about who made who.
I got nothing more than this.
Sometimes the best times are just simple, plain, and easygoing.
Perfection is all in how you look at it.