It is the sound, I think. It plays in your soul, or it doesn't. I love the sound of his voice more than just about anything, and this is Italian enough.
He looked over at where I was sitting--close to the stage in the tiers stage left--as he left the stage in the Berkeley concert. I begin to regret that my friends will not stalk. They give me rides and put me up for the night, so I can't really just do whatever I want.
Stalking is something for young people to do, people who stay up late, and in my case the results have not been good. I am thinking this over. I should practice smiling, perhaps.