Another fragment of writing, circa 2001:
Let’s start at the end, shall we? Stops you from playing guessing games. The end is “Tracks of My Tears” playing on my stereo, me sitting on the floor of my living room because the couch feels too – comfortable, I think – and somehow I feel I have to feel something. Yes, it’s a cliche and if someone looked on me right now filming me it would be an ordinary scene in a B movie; camera starts up from high and goes in, then circles around my head.
What’s on hers? She never did care about music enough to have a breakup song. Unless there was a song that happened to be playing in the background, on the TV, and it could be any song, from . I think. What do we know about someone?
***
We met during a heatwave in Boston, in those days when the Curious Liquids café was still around. Mercury at 100 – 35 Celsius – and sun bright enough that it was hard to look at the gold dome of the State House. I’d popped into the café for a drink, idly sat myself in one of the nooks downstairs, toying with a backgammon board.
Hot fun, summer in the city.