It's 11:12 p.m. here. I may or may not be head-over-heels in like with the young saxist at the jazz bar. He plays on Friday nights. He probably has a girlfriend already, or is too wrapped up in his music to care about girls. Or boys. You never know. He also might still be like...17. That doesn't stop me from going to every show he plays and staring at him all night, though. I wish I was talented.