Time and Music on an Average Sunday in Carrboro
by Carrboro poet laureate Kate Lovelady
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Diligent joggers pad in rhythm through clouds of varied voices chorusing hope and joy. 11am At the market, seductive sounds --dobros or bodhrans pan pipes or banjos-- weave through tiny wide-eyed whirling dervishes. 1 pm A folk singer’s wail duets with the whine of the espresso machine— a twelve-tone breakthrough at the coffee shop. 2pm Fresh from a late breakfast of huevos rancheros, band members in last night’s clothes wander into gently shabby houses and begin untangling their cords. 4pm At the music stores, the next generation of rock stars finger guitars and drums while their parents smile nervously. 8pm Going to see your friend in a new experimental theater work-- a musical version of Chekhov set in Las Vegas. . . . 10pm Calling the sitter from the cavernous, sticky-floored club— You’re horrified to hear yourself yell, “Do they have to play so loud?” Midnight Walk home under the watchful eye of the Century Clock, through the dark streets, past porches with guitar pickers; open windows exhaling jazz and samba; random notes drifting like pollen. As you turn into your driveway, a green-aproned grocery bagger bikes by, whistling to herself. Carrboro Map | Computer Stuff | Downtown Carrboro Map | Events | Prices | Restaurants | UniqueOrn Enterprises 
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