Outside, a few minutes ago, tight solid black business suit, pale face, aging, irresponsible hair/beard, smoking,
(ref: soft light: black scribble over a gray canvas) somewhat territorial of my surroundings. An evil stare to some, a casual one to others. Doesn't matter. It's just me with harmless light, a pause from crossing problems off the list and then my left hand's little finger stops working for a few seconds, concequences from an accident, nearly eleven years ago. I'll have to get used to it. Might be a bit numb now, but it's a miracle that it works at all. It was then that the urgency of undertaking a series of concerts became more relevant because, obviously, time is of the essence here.
