My drive home often takes me past Ryles jazz club in Inman Square, and I love looking inside when I'm stuck at a red light, which I am 98 percent of the time. The windows are fogged up, the saxophonist is wailing away on his horn, and the dance floor is crowded with couples swinging each other around -- and all I can hear is ... nothing. It's a little surreal being able to see into another world, a world where people are having way more fun, and being so completely cut off from it. Some night I might just jump out of my car and join them.
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