ginsegn

     It was a summer day. The room was buzzing with noise, and outside the window, a song drifted through the air. It drifted through the summer air, warm and humid, stirred with just the right breeze. Not a knife that slices through, but a feather, a gentle caress of coolness through the not-summer room, gray and drab and crowded.     The song drifted through, blasted by a car on the street outside. And it was a summer song, from some generic indie rock boy band, full of drum beats and guitar riffs. Joy and freedom tumbled from it, instrumental gold and lyrical jewels that bounced onto the pavement, glittering and out of reach from the ope