There’s something about her. When she gets her nails done & plays that guitar… no guy, no girl, no child can withstand her beauty, & and the way her hair falls. And how she looks down & out, down to her instrument, out into everyone’s soul. Definitely mine at least. I see it on the faces of others too. We all are in it. With those beautiful hands & those colors she’s made a web of aesthetic sound neither I nor you nor anyone or anything will ignore or resist or take for granted. In that web, there’s us. If we were to take a vote–on the feeling about being in her web–, we are cool with it. I’m not sure if she’s planning to eat us but okay if she needs to I will be first, “no I will be first!” It’s crazy I tell you, the way this chick has all of us locked in a free world mindlessly pursuant on staying stuck. Some are recording her music, others have fallen asleep listening. I mean, this could be there lunch break–I see briefcases beside them–and it would appear they may have finally just said, “fuck it! i’m not going back, I’m staying right here. I am not going back there is a choice and she’s shown me there is always a choice fuck this briefcase! Fuck these clothes!” And I shit you not some of them have taken off their clothes and literally thrown them into the wind. I saw a man’s pair of pants tumble down the sidewalk & land on the head of a sleeping homeless man. Another woman who had already undressed–I kept my clothes on– started dancing real slow next to Sarah & her guitar. And the woman dancing began to open & close her legs, slowly & quickly, revealing & hiding between them an incredible vagina gaping for the taking, tightly closed for rejecting. & I shit you not I felt so inspired by her & it & Sarah & the penetrable structure teetering in front to ask her quite plainly if she wanted to have sex & we did, right there, in front of everyone. Men, women, & children, all in front, all in reckless euphoric abandon. Hypnotized. I know I know it’s hard to make sense of what I’m saying. After I came inside & softened I wouldn’t believe it anymore either. Hence this is why I tell the story: to trigger the memory of what occurred! But it is or was like, this girl and her guitar opened up a shared collection of human sense. All who heard her play stopped & became one with it. I was the first to sit down next to her. Not long after another joined, then another, and it was like the area of our influence grew exponentially. And we were all responsible for everything, down to the detail, down to the great looking vagina, down to the tumbling pair of pants destined to be a new hat. Everything became one there’s really no other way to explain it.