Sometimes, we let our minds wander into places they shouldn't be. Images, sounds, actions touch a nerve in our brains and a flashback of memories surges from wherever they came from.
Just as I stand in the crowd before a live jazz band, my eyes fixates on the percussionist and even though I see his deft hands thump the surface of the djembe or congo, it is not that percussionist, a stranger, that I hear, but him instead. The rhythm resonates with the one engraved in my mind. Those hands are brought to live, it takes center stage in my mind.
I turn to the one beside me and say,'My ex, he plays a mean piece of latin percussions too...'
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