Third Thursday in the Same Seat (Fan Love)

Lyrics

It's the third Thursday in November.
The wood floor at The Bluebird groans the same way.

The varnish is worn smooth on the left armrest.
My thumb fits the divot.
Seat 4B, side view, a black pillar slightly in the way.
But I can see your hands on the fretboard from here.
I can see the scuff on your brown leather boots.
It's been this seat since you played that song about the rain back in 2017.

This isn't for you. Not really.
It's for me.
This little ritual of return.
The ten-dollar ticket, the two-dollar water.
Third Thursday, in the same seat.
My quiet amen to your quiet prayer.

Last month you changed a line in "Westbound Train."
From "fading sunlight" to "fading headlights."
I wonder what happened on the road between.
The rest of the room didn't notice, but I did.
From 4B, you can hear the small things.
The intake of breath before the high note.

This isn't for you. Not really.
It's for me.
This little ritual of return.
The ten-dollar ticket, the two-dollar water.
Third Thursday, in the same seat.
My quiet amen to your quiet prayer.

They call it parasocial. One-sided.
Like that's a failing.
But it's clean. It's pure.
I ask nothing of you but the song.
And you ask nothing of me at all.
Stan Lee said the fans are a constant.
I'm just one constant, in one chair.

The house lights come up.
A ghost of feedback hangs in the air.
I leave the divot in the armrest for next time.
The third Thursday.
It'll be here.