Live and Let Die
Everybody wants to go to Chicago. Everyone wants to go to that city they’ve never seen. And maybe it’s only because they were listening to Elliott Smith when they first saw photos of the purple skyline. Or because they traded in fifteen dollars for a bottle of Evian and the Michigan River.
More likely though, it’s probably because they wish they weren’t here. They wish that this table was tucked somewhere between streets in East Village, or that they could walk to Millennium Park from where they were sitting. Most of all, they wish that, if it was cold, at least it would be worth it.
My fingers are freezing.
3.34am. Time to step outside to check how red the morning is; time to add to the pile that’s already on the floor. And it’s at times like this when we start to remember certain things. Like how we scared away that singer-songwriter because we never learnt the proper rules of e-mail etiquette. Or how our fingers started to bleed because no one ever taught us the correct way to hold down the F chord.
And all these thoughts turn into a 7 minute film of Robert Doisneau’s black and white photographs and they start to gather in the space between our eyes. I tried, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So I added 2 to the pile that was already on the floor.
My fingers are burning.
Everybody wants to go to the place where you spent 3 months you don't remember and a place you said you wanted to go back to.
More likely though, it’s probably because they wish they weren’t here. They wish that this table was tucked somewhere between streets in East Village, or that they could walk to Millennium Park from where they were sitting. Most of all, they wish that, if it was cold, at least it would be worth it.
My fingers are freezing.
3.34am. Time to step outside to check how red the morning is; time to add to the pile that’s already on the floor. And it’s at times like this when we start to remember certain things. Like how we scared away that singer-songwriter because we never learnt the proper rules of e-mail etiquette. Or how our fingers started to bleed because no one ever taught us the correct way to hold down the F chord.
And all these thoughts turn into a 7 minute film of Robert Doisneau’s black and white photographs and they start to gather in the space between our eyes. I tried, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So I added 2 to the pile that was already on the floor.
My fingers are burning.
Everybody wants to go to the place where you spent 3 months you don't remember and a place you said you wanted to go back to.
(Getz/Gilberto, also featuring Jobim)
posted by DS at 4:11 AM
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