Divisadero - pg. 122

When she began to sing, what was surprising was not the power of her voice, or its range from rough to tender, but the confidence she had built up there, as if a great actress were sculpting the air with her arms while drawling like Chryssie Hynde. It was a persona Cooper had not met in all the time he had spent with Bridget. Her subliminal dancing, her yelling back to the crowd, her translation of 'Season of the Witch' into a rough, dangerous blues, left him unmoored from everything he knew about her. He'd never met this woman before.