The Old Friend

It had been nearly a year, or at least that's how long it had seemed, since I had spoken to The Old Friend.

It was funny how well we got along so quickly. Music, life, perspective. We're nothing the same, yet our roots seem to grow in mirrored patterns. Aptitudes and abilities. If we were co-workers we would likely scale the corporate ladder simply because of our cooperative efforts. But we don't dig that sort of thing. There is a lot more to life than trying to stand on the head of your fellow.

Music plays whenever we talk. It just happens. Maybe one of us triggers it, I don't know. The Blues ring loud, sounds fluid as gravel, and we like it that way. We travel the world in the music we share back and forth, and we are the richest alive. Though we're both as poor as they come. The internet fuels that facade, but that's okay, because we were both born in the internet.

Outlet. Flow through the outlet, time and stress. The Old Friend is here, and the times are moving forward around us.