Summer in the city after dusk. Jean shorts are meant for thighs. Ice cream is made to melt. Shoes are built to sweat, to brown from street dirt. Hair is meant to tangle. Grass to be matted. Debit cards to be lost, bike bells born for sunglasses. Moons and Junes and ferris wheels to be dizzied by. Time’s backward creaking and forward skim are meant to seduce. Lovers are meant to be naked. Windows meant for sleeping next to, open. You, thinking about sitcoms and their penchant for hijinx when a friend comes through the window unnanounced. And how none of those sitcom writers could have ever spent a night in a bed next to an open window in your city. You know a friend won’t be the one that ends up at your window. It will be mustachioed man waking you up by whispering “let’s play”, knife blade glinting in the moonlight.
But you’re lucky tonight. You know the knife wielder. You sneak back out the window with her and climb into K’s raised 4×4. You leave the dog at home. She takes the passenger seat and you take the back, leaning against the backpacks. K gets in after you. He is barrel-chested, shaved almost bald, bulging at the shoulders. He wears a tight black T, camo pants – has shades, a dayglo hoodie, giant raver sneakers. “Let’s go?” he asks. “Let’s go,” you say.
Streaming :: SoundCloud