After the Charleston, I should have gone home. But the sinner in my ankle had opinions of his own. He dragged me through the city where the fashionable glow, past a line of velvet sneakers at a club I did not know. I said, “Good evening, rhythm. I have come to be transformed.” The bass looked rather doubtful. The hi-hat seemed informed. A gentleman in headphones gave my jacket one slow stare. He said, “Sir, you have feeling, but you’ve brought too much despair.” I tried to loosen up. I really did my best. But my vowels stood at attention in a very tailored vest. I almost made it to Hip-Hop, but Hip-Hop said, “Not yet.” “Your melancholy has cufflinks, and your heartbreak looks well-read.” I almost caught the fashion, almost learned the modern art, but I only reached the border where the bass forgives the heart. So I’ll stay right here, where the blue notes breathe, with a little bit of trouble and a little too much sleeve. Not the peak of fashion, not the street’s decree - just contemporary enough for a man like me. They said, “You need more swagger.” I said, “I brought restraint.” They said, “You need a sharper edge.” I said, “I brought a saint.” They said, “Your groove is decent, but your posture is a crime. And every time the beat drops, you apologise on time.” I nodded like a sinner at a very polite trial, then stepped into some R&B with a half-defeated smile. There were Rhodes beneath the ceiling, there was velvet in the snare, and suddenly my sorrow found a suitable chair. The sinner in my ankle said, “This is not defeat. You have simply found a nightclub that can handle your receipts.” I almost made it to Hip-Hop, but Hip-Hop said, “Not yet.” “Your melancholy has cufflinks, and your heartbreak looks well-read.” I almost caught the fashion, almost learned the modern art, but I only reached the border where the bass forgives the heart. So I’ll stay right here, where the blue notes breathe, with a little bit of trouble and a little too much sleeve. Not the peak of fashion, not the street’s decree - just contemporary enough for a man like me. Do not pity me, darling. I am not badly placed. There is honey in the keyboard and forgiveness in the bass. The world may keep its summit, its thunder and its crown. I have found a softer staircase and I’m slowly coming down. I almost made it to Hip-Hop, but Hip-Hop waved me through to a room with better lighting and a deeper shade of blue. I almost caught the fashion, but the fashion caught my tie, then kindly sent me sideways where the old romantics try. So I’ll stay right here, where the slow drums lean, half a step from yesterday, half a note from clean. Not the peak of fashion, not the next big thing to be - just contemporary enough for a man like me. The ankle still has plans. I have hidden the dancing shoes.
