Driving home last night, exhausted but elated from a really great gig with a really great crowd that just would not let us go home, Patrick (drummer) and I suddenly found ourselves stuck on the FDR between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. Really bad accident, whole highway closed.  Everyone got out of their cars (except me - drivers, always stay with your vehicle!) and suddenly it was like a community on the FDR- a really gorgeous community, because it was 3:30am in New York, and all the girls who had gotten out of their cabs were obviously on their way home from a night of clubbing. I suggested we all order some pizzas and have them delivered by chopper, since the east side heliport was close by.

Anyway, the accident had apparently just happened a minute or so before we got there, because we were swarmed by emergency vehicles coming from behind that passed us and then stopped in front of us, leaving us at the front of what became a nightmare miles-long backup. After a while, Patrick got antsy and curious, and walked up to take a look.  An NYPD officer told him the accident was fatal.

When we finally made it through nearly an hour later and drove past the spot where someone's life ended suddenly and violently, we quickly stopped bitching about how much time we lost, and how tired we were, and how we just wanted to be home and asleep, and became acutely aware of how tremendously fortunate we are to be happy and healthy and make a living doing what we love. Very humbling.