Listening to Jackson Brown 2015

The past is alive with music and music is alive with the past. The taste of a whole way of living: the smell, the touch, the greasy feel of the seventies. Sliding through the cloying, rich smell of resin, hanging like incense in a room filled with reclining bodies and pots of tea. Speakers the size of ships, throb with the bass. The rock pulses through you like the heartbeat of a time. Giggles about nothing and the guitar screws it up. You lean over and wonder if you’ll be able to make it feeling this wrecked. The music wraps around you and stereo is the sweetest word in the universe. Soft, wet lips that taste of sugar and tobacco. Sensual hands slide inside the clothing that never quite comes off.