Ximena Sariñana wasn't the big thing of the night. It wasn't her cool casette collar or accesible ways to scribble her name on her CD and posing in a picture.
It wasn't related to Ximena. Not at all.
Well, maybe it was.
It was the way Sariñana's 'Monitor' floated into my ears from the car out into the street that strangely enough wasn't cold, those chords made me feel strangely warm as I stared.
And smiled.
Wow.
Where will I go from here? Zinco Jazz Club on a couple of weeks?
PS: I'll try not to think about you so much.
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