"Firefly"

I heard the crickets around us. The frogs humming their own tunes. The rustling of leaves in the wind. Small, amber lanterns floated in the distance as Cage tuned his guitar.

"All right," he said in his distinct, gruff voice, "Let's have a good time tonight!"

To his left, Magnus on the drums hollered out a "Yeah!"

Someone in the crowd echoed the excitement.

"I said it's a good time tonight!" Cage rasped with a twang on his guitar.

"It's gonna be all right!" shouted someone else in the crowd.

"Wo-ah boy," Cage sang, "Magnus, gimme somethin' fresh."

"You got it, Boss," the drummer called back. There was a quick barrage of percussion, which was killed in a second by a smooth beat between the toms and the snare. It was complex yet simple at the same time; the exact kind of drumming you want to hear in the blues. Magnus came on strong at first, but when Cage started nodding along, Magnus scaled back to let his brother take the stage.

"Now lemme tell y'all a story now," Cage said in tandem with Magnus, "'Bout this bog right here and the land around it..."

"Here ya are, Darling," a waitress stepped beside me and sat a whiskey sour on the table.

"Thanks, Madam," I nodded.

I picked up the drink and snuck a look at the people around me when she left-- and yeah. It was weird being the only white guy there.

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