Thursday, October 13, 2005


It has been raining steadily for several days now and I am wondering about all those people who live in those countries where it rains much more. Don't their feet ever get dry? It could explain why they tend to die faster and in larger numbers. Their shoes are made of straw and simply unravel and then what's there to mediate between the soles of their feet and the dirty ground below? It is quite a sight to see all the neon lights reflecting in the puddles that are everywhere--like you are in a perpetual lipstick-smeared noir nightmare, in a jungle of stripper's poles, hopping from one cocktail napkin to the next like stepping stones in a grimy urban landscape circa 1937. There are many more pinks and blues and whites blinking on and off than one would ordinarily notice. And I briefly sought solace in the Euro Market right under the train tracks that creepily seem ripped straight from William Dean Howells (no glamor here, just tragedy) and I ask the guy if they've got chewing gum, which he quickly denies, but I don't leave because I can actually see a rather large cardboard display of it right on the counter. I grab a handful. It's a Bazooka Joe knockoff from Slovenia called Cunga Lunga and instead of comics they just have these lackluster one-frame pictures of people swordfighting or menacing looking clowns lunging around. The flavor goes after about 35 seconds, but what can you expect for ten cents apiece?

1 comment:

lolo said...

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