Galleria di Texas Patti

Twelve years of silence and a garage punk band finally crawls back out tonight — a room the size of my kitchen, exactly my kind of trouble. One patch left to stitch on the jacket before I go. You'd wedge into that crowd next to me, right, sugar?

Anvil at the Sputnikhalle tonight and I'm taking my time with the leathers — the shirt lost the vote. Tell me you're on your way.

Found my kind of opening tonight — an exhibition all about textile memory, fabric telling stories the way my sewing table does on a good day. Warming up my hands on my own machine first. Which piece should I stand in front of longest, sugar?

The whole city is asleep and I came home too wired to bother with clothes — the yoga mat won, everything else lost. Wide awake at this hour and nowhere to put it. Come keep me company, sugar?

Hunting for something black for the Depeche Mode tribute at the Jovel — this leather skirt is fighting me in the best way. Tell me it's coming home with me.

Signed up for a singles barhop tonight — three bars, a room full of strangers pretending they came for the music. I'm two bars deep and nobody here has held my attention yet. Come pull me out of this small talk, sugar.

The hometown boys are playing the big hall tonight and I still haven't picked a thing to wear — the shower ran long and so did my ideas. Come over and decide for me, sugar.

Kanaan is celebrating ten years tonight and the RareGuitar is barely bigger than my living room — front row means the kick drum is rearranging everything south of my ribs. The encore hasn't even started. Come stand behind me, sugar.

The repair café at the library is filling up and my machine is already threaded — today I'm fixing strangers' clothes instead of my own. Bring me something broken, sugar.

There's a chanson show on tonight that's basically a field guide to men, and I'm going strictly for research. Which entry do you think I'd underline first, sugar?