gloamingdaydream

The indie rock anthems of a just joggling band, the lights startled, a bath of bubbly blisters. T-shirts were 25 dollars each, perhaps an absolute rip off. I bought two, one with a pitch black background and a purple coloured guitar hanging off a striff, the other white, and the guitar now turned box on blue. I already knew the screams heard around the anthems of a hundred mile radius would contaminate our souls, their etchy soundwaves drumming the outside of our hearts cocoons, a rhythmic beating that incorporated those familiar melodic elements.

Ricky the rock sold out next door, the show had been a huge success. He sold their signed albums which had been the first to go, the next two were the armbands and necklaces respectively. Oddly enough, the shirts never ended up selling out. Maybe there were too many of those in stock, just in case. Either way, they left behind a box full of a big surprise: Absolutely nothing, what a shock. I wondered who cleaned up when the venue closed. As I headed out the exit, I tried to buy a coke, but realized the bar was closed, only to do a double take when I saw someone else order and it was actually open, I had no idea what had possibly caused me to hallucinate its closure. So, then, I naturally ordered a coke with ice. Bart asked me if I liked the concert, I nodded slightly and said “it was cool, I guess” which was true, I knew I liked inherently loud things and this was plenty loud, but not as good as other loud stuff I had seen. Maybe I’d appreciate them more if I hadn’t seen an all time favourite of mine just a couple of weeks prior, an event that overshadowed everything and anything prior and far between.

I slurped the coke loudly and sat at a nearby table. Luckily, the seats had all been cleared out since whoever remained was instead standing at their merch table to hold them up for an autograph or a picture or maybe even both, why not? The cup was not see through glass but plastic which annoyed me slightly, it made me feel like a kid again for no particular reason. Well for one reason actually, plastic cups are given to kids in case they drop them so that they wouldn’t shatter. Maybe they had glasses and Bart had just given me a plastic one because she thought I couldn’t handle the sting of the real deal with my heart still fluttering ablaze from the show.

At a nearby table, the only one other than mine that was still occupied, a young woman and a middle aged man, he wore a hat clearly meant to cover up balding and was also drunkenly listing off random rock bands from the eighties and nineties, probably trying to show off his “impressive” music knowledge, but in actuality all he listed were the most popular, lame ass bands that had almost no tangible quality or substance to them, the best of the best were found not necessarily in the most underground of caverns, but starting in a place right below the brightest spotlights would be a good place to begin with. The ones at the very top would never amount to anything(with a few rare exceptions), but the rest of the levels had varying degrees of quality to them, it all depends on the luck one has in finding them.

Nevertheless, the man prattled on like a drone, only leaving when the woman said she was planning to go stand in line, to which he responded with an angry look and told her that he’d wait outside. They then both stood up and went their separate ways, and I would bet good money that they never fused ways ever again. Good riddance, I say. Absolute prick, the guy, not because he was being an asshole, but simply because he thought the beatles were a good band. What kind of absolute buffoon thinks that? Horrendous ball knowledge, truly.

During that spell of which my focus had been drawn to the idiotic beatle merchant, I’d forgotten to take a sip of my drink for about five consecutive minutes, delaying my departure from the venue once again. No big deal, though, I thought, reaching into my bag and pulling up my phone. The bus wasn’t due for another 14 minutes, better to wait inside here sipping on a drink than out there freezing in the snow. Someone walked past me in a hurry and briefly mumbled “rolling stone” to which I replied in my head “How does it feel? Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone!” but sadly he was too far gone into sanity to be able to read my mind, thankfully.

At long last, with my stupid coke dwindled to its last drop and viscerally eliminated, I made my way  out the venue, descending the small swirly staircase that would lead to its ineffinable exit, and indeed it was so. The fury of the cold air greeted me with a handshake, and I, with no coat of arms to deflect, ran from it like a madman. I could see the bus due on my vision’s horizon, calmly coasting across the chillish glamour night of the city. I secretly begged him to hurry up, and almost like magic he actually slowed down, what an idiot.

The inside of the bus was empty, the whole place unveiled itself to me. I could pick and choose my spots, moving up and about at each stop. I positioned myself at the very back, as usual.  I was totally alone, it almost felt like I’d boarded a solitary train solely designed to placate me. The driver was miles away, a negligible presence, hidden away like the train’s conductor. I placed my alienated forehead up on the large window and made eye contact with the flittering city, evasive as the plateau lights that flickered off piece by piece. After a while of leaning my ear on it, I had to pull back and sneeze. Once, twice, three times, my entire body stiffening after each one, pulling my back, fingertips, and neck almost in every direction. I could hear a crack in my bones every time I stretched my arms, maybe a sign of deterioration.

After getting off the bus, I didn’t go home but instead turned around, half baked, and walked to the park right under. Two girls were smoking weed on the swingsets and laughing, and I quickly sped up the rhythm and length of my footsteps, looking the other way. The crucial thing with these people was to make yourself unnoticed and everything would be fine. For some reason, there were three others as well, climbing the monkey bars. I feared one of them would fall and break his neck, he’d been climbing and twisting and turning with a body not fit to carry the weight of those athletic feats, it was doll-ish and being puppeteered with total disregard for its limits.

I walked around the park a couple of times, each time shooting a glance at both sets of weirdos. At some point, I passed the stoners who had grown quiet and from where the swings creaking was the only sound left.

I don’t remember how I noticed the corpse, it was just laying there. A man with a white beard, hunched over as if to inspect something, had simply dropped dead. I hadn’t seen him alive, nor had I noticed his dead body before that moment, how had it slipped from me? For two minutes, I considered calling the police, but I figured that would be a big hassle and would get me into some unnecessary situations, so I ignored it and walk away as fast as I could, hoping one of those other people would find the man soon, or maybe they wouldn’t and someone else would tomorrow. Regardless, this was no longer my problem – it never was. 

My camera was completely burnt out. On and on and on I had gone on and used it up, only for it to burn itself to death in an attempt to immortalize the moment of their songs, but it had only accelerated the process of its burial. What remained of tonight’s recollections was a five second video of a purple haired woman burping right in front of me.