August 15, 2009. Paul McCartney played for tens of thousands at Piedmont Park in Atlanta. A blistering set of 34 songs out under the summer stars, from “Drive My Car” to “The End”. A night no one would soon forget.
I wasn’t there.
There have been a good number of concerts I’ve missed out on in the past decade that haunt me. Maybe none more than that one.
I could have gone. I could have jumped in the car, spread my Wings and spontaneously headed to Atlanta to see Paul McCartney at Piedmont Park. I’m not even sure why I decided to stay home that day.
I’ve regretted ever since then that I didn’t.
Last night mostly made up for it. Continue reading