The night was a chill shroud. The ancient stones of Athlone castle almost creaked with the cold; rivulets of moisture ran down their slick surface. Emerging from the shadow of the castle, three huddled figures with bulky pieces of equipment strapped to their backs stole quickly across the town bridge.
City council workers, their numb fingers fumbling with the christmas bulbs they were stringing across the length of the bridge took little or no notice of the trio as they passed by on their way deeper into the heart of Athlone town. The sky breathed an intermittent drizzle down through the evening, giving the three a golden halo as they hurried beneath streetlights, past the shuttered shopfronts.
Suddenly the door of the Shack Pub burst inward, shoved roughly by gloved hands. The circle of musicians within looked up to see three figures approaching them, pulling the hoods from their darkened faces . . .
. . . Tuesday night had come again to The Shack and this was her session.
With the sheriff conspicuously absent, the fingerpicker, pads, des, VE and hardy were joined by the bean, angel and the blogger last night at the infamous shack session. Truncated though it may be, I’ve selected one of VE’s pieces for this week’s mp3. Why? Because it’s good. Well, that and you’re still the only one for me.