a night with Jache is like:

i just had the most amazing bowl of yogurt i have ever eaten in my life. it was made from whole milk, with cream on top, and topped with delicious blueberries and wholesome pumpkin flax seed granola. but this is beside the point.

the point is that last night a poet's mother told me that my genius bordered on disability while he read me essays in the living room, the smell of sautéed portobellos in a cast iron skillet mingling with the croon of Tom Waits.

eventually i had to leave and, on my way to where i was going, i started to wonder if i was on my way to where i was going. the bakery admonition of the voodoo priestess still rang in my ears,

"slow down,"

as i walked past an amazing drummer singing his raspy soulful blues while a legless black man laid down the bottom end.

i knew i was in the right place.