Disclaimer: I describe here an evening from the recent past as a weak attempt at telling a story.
It’s dark. Long, languorous notes of “Shine on you crazy diamond” fill the room. I stir from my blissful state of inertia and take a look out the window. It’s cloudy and judging from the cool blow glow the mountains are bathed in, the sun must be pretty low in the sky. What time does that make it? Hmm, well what month of the year is this? November, yes, there’s a dusting of snow on the hillside. I suddenly feel the need for some crisp evening air and a movie. What’s playing? The Coen brothers have new movie out, “A Serious Man”. A comedy, perfect!
A change of attire, shoes, jacket and I’m sauntering down to the train stop, day-old snow crunching underfoot, Lisa Ekdahl singing to me. I look up and the moon is a crimson wisp in the western sky hanging over the brightly lit city with a quiet air of dignity. I wonder why I think the moon looks dignified. Grateful Dead’ “Friend of the devil” and few hundred more yards and I’m on the train. I peer out the window – the city looks sleepy. Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m sleepy. I see leafless trees reach up in to the sky like so many dried up, gnarly hands pleading for escape from the tired, gaudy neon lights, Jethro Tull’s “Bungle in the Jungle” plays in the background.
Head leaning against the window, I see the familiar geometric shapes of the city library come into view superimposed on a reflection of the railcar’s interior. It’s my stop, and it’s Calexico’s “Sunken Waltz”. A few dried yellow leaves peek through the snow, catching the multicolored lights of storefront signs, as I walk along familiar streets. Then I see the marquee, it’s the Broadway Cinema. Within seconds, I’m walking up to the concession stand, ticket in hand. The nice, familiar lady, whose name I don’t know, tells me of the movies she’s been watching lately as makes my usual cup of Earl Grey.
Tea in hand, I settle into my seat in the nearly empty cinema hall and pull out my headphones, all with a practiced ease that comes from repetition. Once again, it's practically a private screening. As I take a tentative first sip, the screen comes to life with the first of the trailers. I knew then, with absolute certainty, it was going to be another wonderful evening.
It’s dark. Long, languorous notes of “Shine on you crazy diamond” fill the room. I stir from my blissful state of inertia and take a look out the window. It’s cloudy and judging from the cool blow glow the mountains are bathed in, the sun must be pretty low in the sky. What time does that make it? Hmm, well what month of the year is this? November, yes, there’s a dusting of snow on the hillside. I suddenly feel the need for some crisp evening air and a movie. What’s playing? The Coen brothers have new movie out, “A Serious Man”. A comedy, perfect!
A change of attire, shoes, jacket and I’m sauntering down to the train stop, day-old snow crunching underfoot, Lisa Ekdahl singing to me. I look up and the moon is a crimson wisp in the western sky hanging over the brightly lit city with a quiet air of dignity. I wonder why I think the moon looks dignified. Grateful Dead’ “Friend of the devil” and few hundred more yards and I’m on the train. I peer out the window – the city looks sleepy. Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m sleepy. I see leafless trees reach up in to the sky like so many dried up, gnarly hands pleading for escape from the tired, gaudy neon lights, Jethro Tull’s “Bungle in the Jungle” plays in the background.
Head leaning against the window, I see the familiar geometric shapes of the city library come into view superimposed on a reflection of the railcar’s interior. It’s my stop, and it’s Calexico’s “Sunken Waltz”. A few dried yellow leaves peek through the snow, catching the multicolored lights of storefront signs, as I walk along familiar streets. Then I see the marquee, it’s the Broadway Cinema. Within seconds, I’m walking up to the concession stand, ticket in hand. The nice, familiar lady, whose name I don’t know, tells me of the movies she’s been watching lately as makes my usual cup of Earl Grey.
Tea in hand, I settle into my seat in the nearly empty cinema hall and pull out my headphones, all with a practiced ease that comes from repetition. Once again, it's practically a private screening. As I take a tentative first sip, the screen comes to life with the first of the trailers. I knew then, with absolute certainty, it was going to be another wonderful evening.
