Do a little jig

there was shamrock confetti and green beer and toilet paper streamers dotted with four-leaf clovers. after my friend’s band played, we stood and talked about amusement parks and the house of blues and run-ins with the cops.

but the drunken sounds and smoke from the balcony became too much for us, so we retreated to the bedroom with a guitar. the music was elliott smith meets radiohead meets simon & garfunkel. i, of course, didn’t play or sing. i just listened, sitting on the bed, staring off into the book-lined wall. (i might have hummed.) i felt like i should be wearing tinted sunglasses and daisy chains in my hair.

the party slowly migrated into the bedroom, and david slipped into the bathroom, motioning for us to follow him. so we did. i sat on the hamper, while he and joel took turns playing songs. it was the sort of thing you’d do if you were drunk, but none of us were. the acoustics were just better in there.

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