I heard my first live music in quite some time tonight: a guy with an acoustic guitar in the Market Cafe section at Wegman's.
He regaled a totally disinterested crowd with Dylan and James Taylor songs and the like.
As my Southern friends would say: "bless his heart." This poor guy made "Tangled Up in Blue," "California Dreaming" and "Piano Man" all sound indistinguishable from each other.
He was a trooper, and I felt terrible for him. As each song would end, I would wince and pray that someone besides me would clap, even politely.
No one did.
I felt guilty leaving in the middle of his set, because very soon I am sure he was playing to an empty room, save for the old woman cleaning up.
But leave I did, and I couldn't even look him in the eyes as I walked past him heading for the door.
I think it was "Heard in a Love Song" that pushed me over the edge.
I need to get out more.
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