How many seconds does it take to know someone, how many to fall in love? My guess is just as many as it takes to break a heart - one. Like the flick of a light switch , a bat connecting with a ball, a finite moment. (break in thought) enter through curtain into bar (late 1950s)
The lighting is dim, the atmosphere is “showy.” You can tell the owner is a pretentious gentleman who sits high above his adoring guests and accepts compliments like flowers on Valentines Day. There is a comfort in the scent of sin surrounding an often “stuffy” community. The half-naked dancers come as a surprise, burlesque is sort of outdated, but found in some trendy northeast locations. Inhibitions were falling to the floor like the dim light from the classic chandeliers. The place was sexy, pompous, entertaining, and above all, new.
The entry way, as I was escorted through by Jacob and his tall obnoxious friend who had skipped telling me his name, was a velvet curtain. I believe his name was Alex. You had to whisk your way in and move the heavy garment. The curtain was behind an empty pawn shop that was used for show and décor, giving the appearance that you were in a dead, outdated store, but they gave way to an extravagant lounge.
A thousand figures moved in a jackson pollock like formation, ebbing and flowing to the tunes that moved them
She didn’t seem real to me at first site. It was as if something was created right there and then but I was all knowing of its fallacy, all believe of its impending malice. I knew it was delusions of grandeur, the way the light dances off her skin and acted as an accent point to her pearls draped elegantly around her neck. She was Marilyn Monroe without the smoke, she was beauty with no the filter. She was a Bukowski novel save the booze, hatred, and pain that he carried in his words – leaving only pride, description, and clarity. Like a child taking his first glimpse around the corner at a Christmas tree spilling out gifts, I stared in awe. She was a figment of my imagination, I was certain. Nothing this beautiful could live, nothing like this could last – just a momentary blip, a confirmed oasis in the sand.
At this instant, the daily dose of cynicism, forced in a pill or heaved up my nose had dissipated, I was no longer dependent or influenced. I had taken the Frostian road less traveled - the guidance of optimism had blown me in the right direction at the forked road. Soon my nerves will take over and I'll take to the bottle, drip they syrup like an elixir to a cold. But she makes me want to feel the air crips and clean, dark and cold and perfect all in the same breeze. And before my heart goes up in flames and i start throwing stones, I need to speak to her.
A few steps and the crowd takes on its raindrop form, thousands of ants marching to the beat of of testosterone and estrogen bubbled up and releasing.
