Funny isn't it, how when you're driving at night with the front two windows down, the breeze caresses your back, crossing you from left to right straight through your cardigan and between your shoulder blades. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up just as though you're sensing someone stare at you from a distance. Then the breeze leaps off your right shoulder and back out through the window. The same breeze dances on my back as yours. The same moon shines on me.
http://www.rhapsody.com/buddy-johnson/the-band-that-swings-the-blues
It's number six.
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