The Hangar

There we were. The concrete and the scattered bottles, the half emptied casks of wine- over sized t(shirts) and skinny jeans. And people sat, or stood- with cigarettes...magic eyed. And there we were, but we moved- now- inside. Under beams and through soft bright- and into dark ambient light and guitars plucked and the drums kicked and we sat in the room on chairs, bean bags or even the floor- and it was the end... for how could one want any more? And Bigstrongbrute took the stage with Paul up front -and he played-and how someone in the corner so softly swayed-but then the trumpet roared throughout us all and the sound moved- past the swayer(s) and the bean bags-through the doors- again -and out into the mixing night with the cigarettes and tea- northwards again - escaping-towards the stars and the sights. x