(music to read by)
I escape sometimes, when the city becomes its darkest, when some of the lights finally dim, when light bulbs flicker, exhausted, crinkling before they become something to trip over in corners of apartments overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. After talking about Melbourne to our waitress who hopes to make it big in film here in New York City, I retreated, for just a minute, to the darkest part of the bar to breathe and search in vain for a juke box. How many times have the stories I watched play out happened before? The numbers being asked for, the girls in their red skirts and tall boots crying on the sidewalks, the musicians heaving their drum sets off blue truck beds, all the lonely hope.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment