Warm summer evening, the kind that radio loves. Tv’s on the fritz. Lou (regular), curses Obama as bartender Marty futzes with a radio. It crackles to analog life. Old-school country, and Brady (semi-regular) applauds. “Different station,” says Marty. DJ mentions “Abilene” and Lou slurs, “shit, it’s coming from Kansas?” Beautiful anomaly, Brady thinks. Thank you, atmosphere.
Jess strolls in. 22 and wearing shirts with feminist slogans, she doesn’t belong. But she amuses the old-timers. Mostly likes to mingle with her old History teacher. “Evening, Brady.”
Jess pontificates something she read online. Lou echoes or argues, hard to say, as Brady’s attention tightens on the radio. ♫ summer dress…lazy days…. ♫
“…why the hand-basket, I ask:” Lou.
“You gotta agree,” Jess beckons.
“Don’t care,” Brady mutters and exits. They chased off the radio, and he hopes, by miracle of summer, it’ll hum in the long grass out back.
Seconds later Jess says, “Something wrong?”
“Something’s right.”
“You taught me to care about those things.”
“I did?” Shrugs. “You ever really look at stars?”
“Sure. Beautiful.”
“No. Really?”
“We won’t be able to… greenhouse gases…”
Brady isn’t listening. The stars free-associate into snowflakes, falling in Cleveland. He’s young and writing poetry in an apartment shared with a woman like Jess. He’s killing inspiration to celebrate grief. He’s socially-conscious, but was he awake?
How’d he teach Jess to mimic that? Didn’t mean to.
“Let it go,” he croons, hoping to change her, to absolve him.
“He’s killing inspiration to celebrate grief.”
Damn. That hit me like a twelve-foot wave hits a canoe, and I didn’t even have time to turn around and face it.
Going to have to think about this one for a while.
I lifted that (in paraphrased form). Tickets to see see Fog Hat at the county fair for the first caller who can correctly identify the source.
You ought to take more credit. It’s the context that gives it the power.
Considering the prize, i’ll say it’s from U2.
Because it names a place “Stars free-associate into snowflakes, falling in Cleveland” recalls “Stars fell on Alabama” more than the “the Fly”, at least for me. Also, the sentence after the “killing grief” line works as a sort of critique of Bono/U2 as well as the Brady character.
I like that the memories & conversation are refracted through a pop song and that Brady’s inner voice & the radio merge.
Guy has it. It is “The Fly.” Enjoy “Slow Ride.” I hear it’s great live.
More credit where credit is due: The general feel and several lines are lifted from the album “Knuckleball Suite” by Peter Mulvey. A real celebration of summer evenings, small towns, and quiet comforts by a folky singer-songwriter. Well worth your shekels.
Powerful piece. it just sets this mood, quite like the first line (which I love). Peace…
>He’s killing inspiration to celebrate grief. He’s socially-conscious, but was he awake?<
Damn. That's incredible.
Such great texture here, especially the finish; ‘Let’s it go (because deals are too difficult to maintain)’. Subtle and so biting. Really excellent.
very nice, very subtle, and very real – so am going to read it again
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