Anodyne
Sunday, April 16, 2006
 
James Taylor on the Legacy's crackly FM radio, blatter of rain and hail off the windshield, the blower working frantically to clear a transparent crescent moon on the foggy glass.

It used to be your town
It used to be my town, too
You never know ’till it all falls down
Somebody loves you
Somebody loves you
Darling, somebody still loves you....

Parking opposite the Western Front, huge trees dripping slush into the street, a few stray half-drowned ghosts.

The panicked matron on her way to Easter Mass who spotted me in the Kingsway crosswalk at the last second and stood on her brakes, bouncing her wizened, shawled mother in the shotgun seat off the windshield.

Fishtail.

Smoking brakes, a long string of Italian profanities.

ART (Aesthetically Rejected Thing): the Help Wanted sign in the neighborhood coffee bar. Verbatim: Geeked on Coffee? Apply Within.

The North Shore hidden behind successive waves of blowing snow, like those shifting CGI curtains that seal Jack, Wendy and Danny off from the rest of Colorado.

Quickbooks. Boxes of dusty basement books full of lost-looking wolf spiders.

The constantly ringing phone.

- posted by cjb @ 11:12 AM


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