lost in africa and other adventures by leah moriarty

There is something about sipping on a glass of wine in front of a live jazz band on a Friday night.

There is something about the guitar player, with brown sneakers and a wrinkled untucked shirt, biting his bottom lip, all about the music.

Something about it when the melody ceases to play and the drum is alone, silence and the drummer.

Something about when the singer pauses, waiting to jump on the next verse, closing her eyes, counting with her lips and thinking about the thousands of combinations of magical melodies she can concoct next.

Cape Town on the first real summer’s night, wine, and jazz, quite a composition of an evening I would say.