Something seemed a little off as we approached the Sprint Center last night. It was 7:15. Springsteen was supposed to go on at 7:30. But there were no people.

As we got closer, we could see people inside folding t-shirts. Beloved tried the door, but it was locked. So he tried the next door, and the next. I asked if he was sure we had the right night. We looked around for help.

Two red-coated security guards approached us. "Hey," said Beloved. "What's up?"

"The show's cancelled," said one.

"Shut up," we said.

"Okay," said the guy. "But the show's still cancelled."

We found out later Springsteen's cousin and assistant road manager had been found dead at the Intercontinental. But last night, it was just Monday night with a babysitter and no wish on either of our parts to party hearty after missing The Boss.

So we drove home and got some dinner so the little angel could play with her beloved babysitter, as going home early would've just thrown her off. It was still nice to talk to each other uninterrupted, without having to say SIT UP AND EAT even once. But a pall kind of hung over the evening.

My sympathies, Springsteen family and friends.