I’d never felt more rock and roll,
my shades pointed out the window,
the coastline wind blasting my face,
our quietness filling the backseat.
Strategic afternoon plates of tapas,
too early a round of continental beer
and the faint headaches of city squares
slept off before stepping into our night.
Our entrance gate’s skittish silence
turned to programme thumb throughs,
futile meeting point agreements and
jubilant arrivals of cardboard cups.
Joshing runs across bridged stages
and reunions at food truck benches
rivalled acts familiar and new
with company, shaped just right.
After the laughter and the lights
our long bus and walks back
glued into nonsense and peace
affirmed our cartel-of-two pact.