Even after my excursion with Nitro and a fun morning jaunt through my neighborhood that resulted in a free picture frame and poster, the Sabbath day was mostly a malaise for me. I woke up with the intentions of going to church, although it was begrudgingly. But then I recalled we are advanced technologically and watched the whole service on the internet. I was distracted and the message didn't really get to me. I sat through a mostly pleasant meal with my parents, though I saw anger in my dad's voice at the slightest provocation. That man is not happy. And I even got my tickets to the Patriots-Giants game I coveted for my birthday. Still no joy.
Even my concert didn't seem so important. I chose to eschew the door opening time and took my time. I figured even if they stuck with the schedule, I wouldn't be missing much. At this point seeing Little Brother was enough. The bonus venues that were part of the city wide CMJ Music Marathon weren't that important.
But something happened when I stepped outside my house. My iPod delivered a banger and I had to move. I got to the train station just in time to catch mine. The great shuffle continued and I walked into the venue pretty charged.
$7 beer in hand, I found myself more assertive than usual. Usually I move as close as I can and then stop. But this time I saw my holes and pushed forward. By the end of the night I was only about 5 people between me and the stage. The opening acts rocked it. Evidence was energetic. Brother Ali converted me to fanhood. And even the interludes by the DJs were great, and better they were short. Right after the last interlude, Little Brother came on stage and killed it. And my positioning was crucial since I jumped up and caught the jacket Phonte threw off stage.
And then I timed it perfectly to have Tiombe Lockhart shake her ass on me when I booked it to one of those other venues.
What a beautiful night.
God moves in mysterious ways.
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