Mondays’ band

by Mat Gould

has just pulled up in a small mid-sized car
a young couple, they might be hipsters
she is wearing rubber soled rain boots and carrying a plastic tool box
he needs help with the monitors and speakers

they leave to come back later

she sings softly avant- garde of passing by and passing on and something about despair
he strums a broken guitar, hums staringly solemn toward the bar or the aloof barista
and pushes buttons on the keyboard that is otherwise without a pilot
set off to the side

behind them, a few cords leading to the noise

there are empty chairs and not so many others in the standing room either
they play on
sheepishly happy without applause

a pillar of static in between songs-

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