I burned my face today. Well, not me - the sun did. I don't know how it happened exactly. I'd worn a hood to protect my head, and I sat under an umbrella. Somehow though, my face is red and blushing, embarrassed by my neglect, my inability to protect it. I thought I was safe in the shade, that it was a melanoma-free zone. Apparently not.
Last night, as I walking home, along Divisadero, I passed The Independent and saw that Jolie Holland was playing. I walked up to the box office and spoke through the little metal grill to the girl behind the glass. No, it's not sold out, she told me. I handed over a crisp $20 bill and made my way inside. It was great. It was as though every song was pulled from her violin vocal chords by some delicate invisible bow. She has a very distinct way of singing; a unique sultry drawl, capricious and floating between a kind of warbling whisper and a tremulous shaking and slurring.
Ok, my face hurts; I'm going to sleep.
The Love You Save
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