A snapshot from the mind
Oct. 18th, 2006 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonSunday evening and my shadow glows a dull red. The last light of day dips slowly into the cradle of the skyline, from it's wake waves of gold wash over the city, splashing the streets with the crisp shades of an Autumn Dusk. A gold worthy of lions, crowns and empires. A gold that hugs the bare brick walls, lingers on the tips of barbwired fences, burns in the framed reflections of abandoned windows, kisses the dying leaves of swaying trees and makes perfect the empty lots sitting lonely between the buildings.
I'm standing here on the corner of Edgewood Avenue & Boulevard in front of Charliez Pizza ('Home of the Big Slice'), waiting on my dinner and enjoying a smoke (Nope, sorry man... I can't spare one... last pack y'know?) and across the street from me music is drifting down from a row of opened windows. "African Salsada" reads the hand painted banner, "Cafe*Dance*Music* - Now Open!". There is a chanting wail that rides like a ship over the crests and valleys of the drum river rhythm. There is a chorus of clapping hands chattering along to beat. Horns rise out of the flowing deep, releasing a mournful mating call and answering each other across the distance of the song, before submerging themselves back under the tides of voice.
Suddenly the skinny kid from behind the counter is telling me my orders up. He's got one of those classic New York faces - thin, bony, suspicious with almond eyes colored with exasperation-Sunday evening and my shadow glows a dull red. The last light of day dips slowly into the cradle of the skyline, from it's wake waves of gold wash over the city, splashing the streets with the crisp shades of an Autumn Dusk. A gold worthy of lions, crowns and empires. A gold that hugs the bare brick walls, lingers on the tips of barbwired fences, burns in the framed reflections of abandoned windows, kisses the dying leaves of swaying trees and makes perfect the empty lots sitting lonely between the buildings.
I'm standing here on the corner of Edgewood Avenue & Boulevard in front of Charliez Pizza ('Home of the Big Slice'), waiting on my dinner and enjoying a smoke (Nope, sorry man... I can't spare one... last pack y'know?) and across the street from me music is drifting down from a row of opened windows. "African Salsada" reads the hand painted banner, "Cafe*Dance*Music* - Now Open!". There is a chanting wail that rides like a ship over the crests and valleys of the drum river rhythm. There is a chorus of clapping hands chattering along to beat. Horns rise out of the flowing deep, releasing a mournful mating call and answering each other across the distance of the song, submerging themselves back under the tides of voice.
Suddenly the skinny kid from behind the counter is telling me my orders up. He's got one of those classic New York faces - thin, bony, suspicious with almond eyes lit up with a restrained exasperation. I nod, flick my smoke out and take a snapshot from the mind: A postcard from this gentle mood i'm in.
Wish you were here Baby.
I'm standing here on the corner of Edgewood Avenue & Boulevard in front of Charliez Pizza ('Home of the Big Slice'), waiting on my dinner and enjoying a smoke (Nope, sorry man... I can't spare one... last pack y'know?) and across the street from me music is drifting down from a row of opened windows. "African Salsada" reads the hand painted banner, "Cafe*Dance*Music* - Now Open!". There is a chanting wail that rides like a ship over the crests and valleys of the drum river rhythm. There is a chorus of clapping hands chattering along to beat. Horns rise out of the flowing deep, releasing a mournful mating call and answering each other across the distance of the song, before submerging themselves back under the tides of voice.
Suddenly the skinny kid from behind the counter is telling me my orders up. He's got one of those classic New York faces - thin, bony, suspicious with almond eyes colored with exasperation-Sunday evening and my shadow glows a dull red. The last light of day dips slowly into the cradle of the skyline, from it's wake waves of gold wash over the city, splashing the streets with the crisp shades of an Autumn Dusk. A gold worthy of lions, crowns and empires. A gold that hugs the bare brick walls, lingers on the tips of barbwired fences, burns in the framed reflections of abandoned windows, kisses the dying leaves of swaying trees and makes perfect the empty lots sitting lonely between the buildings.
I'm standing here on the corner of Edgewood Avenue & Boulevard in front of Charliez Pizza ('Home of the Big Slice'), waiting on my dinner and enjoying a smoke (Nope, sorry man... I can't spare one... last pack y'know?) and across the street from me music is drifting down from a row of opened windows. "African Salsada" reads the hand painted banner, "Cafe*Dance*Music* - Now Open!". There is a chanting wail that rides like a ship over the crests and valleys of the drum river rhythm. There is a chorus of clapping hands chattering along to beat. Horns rise out of the flowing deep, releasing a mournful mating call and answering each other across the distance of the song, submerging themselves back under the tides of voice.
Suddenly the skinny kid from behind the counter is telling me my orders up. He's got one of those classic New York faces - thin, bony, suspicious with almond eyes lit up with a restrained exasperation. I nod, flick my smoke out and take a snapshot from the mind: A postcard from this gentle mood i'm in.
Wish you were here Baby.