reveling and reckoning

When I'm older I hope Ani DiFranco's still out on tour. The way I picture it it's 2042 and she's biggest on the Six Flags circuit. I'm the septuagenerian double-fisting super-sized Diet Cokes, my hearing aides cranked to max, standing right by the PA. I don't think the way she plays guitar and decorates those open spaces it with intellect and depth of feeling will ever lose resonance for me. It means more the older I get. On the other hand I hope it's just her and not a full-band. I can't imagine that cymbals and I will still be on speaking terms at that point.

After the show I'll speak to her and here's how the conversation will go.

Me: [something articulate]

Ani: (long pause). Wow, no one's ever put it like that before. Can we be best friends?

Me: Yes.

Then I'll freestyle rap, spinning a long history of human pain, reckoning, and ultimately reconciliation. She'll beatbox. Then we'll ride some demented centrifugal roller coaster together and I won't throw up. Which by then will likely constitute my full concept of a romantic hangout.

Me: [something articulate, and cadential].

Ani: (Longer pause). Thanks man, I've been waiting for this conversation all my life.

Fist bumps are exchanged. Exeunt all, smiling.