It took a few days to submerge into Brooklyn, after getting back from Miami and the madness that leaves behind. The whole event can be so overwhelming, when its over I just want to hide and lick my wounds. I took a night to decompress. I smoked weed and watched tv. I ordered a burger and ate it lying on my back. I feel asleep on the couch with my girlfriend.
The next day I worked at the bar. I didn’t drink much, just had a few cocktails. I've tried to start a movie night, and every Monday we play a different movie. Its always slow that day, so I figured what the fuck, lets try something we haven’t. Thus, a few weeks ago Movie Monday was born. This weeks movie was Fargo. The inaugural presentation was of Do the Right Thing. In between then I was buying martinis at a beach bar for $23 dollars a pop, so don’t know what the flick was.
It was especially slow that night. Dead beyond belief. Barely anyone even thought of approaching the bar until 9.30 or so. It was me and the owner closing, and we conceded defeat early on. The movie got postponed and we discussed film instead. just me and him and a room filled with booze. He’s a director of photography that works usually on documentaries. He’s Swiss and knows 6 languages. He is an avid fan of jazz and Russian literature. We dug into each others brains with fury.
The night grew old and bruised and we shared cigarette breaks and stories. A few regulars came in, one at a time, and sat and had a beer and then left politely. At one time the bar had a weak, sympathetic rush, but they all left within a few minutes of each other and we were empty again. He told me gossip about Hollywood legends and I divulged secrets of the record industry. We played games of friendly debate: what modern film director has the most original vision? Is the age of full length albums really over? name ten 20th century American authors better than Jack Kerouac. It was an evening of wealth. We hardly noticed it was time to close, we were so hopped up on dialog when it happened.
When the gate was finally pulled down we had one more cigarette to take the burn off our one more shot just a moment before. We talked still, and without any hush to our voices. Then a neighborhood cat rolled up and joined in the conversation. He was tall and thin and black and british. He seemed a bit excited, and was more interested in hearing his own voice then actually being involved with what we were saying. He would ask a question and then tell the answer. Then he would ask if you knew of something that you most likely didn’t, then tell you about it in a great, loud detail. After a while the owner and me just stared at each other, then at the sky, then at him, while he prattled on about whatever he saw fit to say. Eventually I just slowly began to walk away. I want to say the guy was high on something, but it doesn’t really matter either way, it signaled the end of the evening, and we bid one another adieu.
Anyway. Spring is upon us. The flowers are beginning to unearth themselves. Shoulders have been bared. The sun is finally emerging above Brooklyn. People are wearing t-shirts and riding their bikes. Sunglasses have been unsheathed from cluttered drawers and crowded closets. A pleasant stroll is no longer out of the question. Lying in the park is now an invitation…