It's a typical day at the Leschi, though typical here is nothing short of unique. I meander to the first floor after watching a movie in the 'Theatre Room' -- named so due to the wall-size projector -- to a Saturday night at Jazz Alley. A boy with dreads cradles the bass guitar. It's amplified drone sets a mellow groove. Mel Sky stands behind piano, her fingers singing a melody. Sklobot soars free on saxophone. We spoil ourselves.
Was it luck or fate that found the four of us with a dire need to leave our respective homes almost exactly a year ago? Since then, each person who has walked through our doors has left an outline of themselves. Some stay longer to fill their's in. To make music. Share ideas. Or simply rock on the porch's wooden chair, to bask in the beauty of Mt. Raineer.
The Leschi Lounge lives somewhere between wealth and bohemia. Part frat house, part commune, part Bed and Breakfast, part club. It is an art space. A three-dimentional canvas of six beatnik artists, each's own niche intensified by our personalities -- joined by the beat of our bleeding hearts. Its proof of the amplification of art -- Creativity, when conjoined with creativity, grows exponentially.
We are hippies of a new age. We learned from the sixties. But so did they. The tools our forefathers left for us have been dismantled. But we still fight. We protest privily. We find new paths to each other. Through music. Through hope. There are many ways to be a soldier. We choose to dance.
