amongst dim lights and rustic wood

I can hear the pulse of a low rumbling drum... a deep pained guitar cries and howls throughout the room... resonance of pure emotions... of sorrow, of being wrong done, of facing the reality of now. It's the sound of the wanderer, the heavy laden, the lone burdened man... it's a sound that can be translated into a certain look, a certain glance of the eye...
I sat there, zoned out and tuned in to the music that occupied the entire venue... I sat there drinking my micro-brew, not because it's trendy but because of it's absent aftertaste... I sat there with my elbows resting on an over-lacquered wood beam watching people absorb the atmosphere. The atmosphere was thick for the music was nearly tangible as it wasn't just around you but rather it went through you like a healing force. It was inevitable that my eyes went to sleep and that my mind wandered and traveled away with the music... far away.