Performance piece –or– It’s always the quiet loners, isn’t it?
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
While I was driving to pick up a larva, a man crossed my path. A man who—if you substituted Booker’s, 70% cocoa chocolate, and espresso for Steel Reserve, Marlboros, and Methamphetamines—could be my stunt double. Same hair, same beard, same skin, same eyes. He looked me right in the face. Had a shit eating, ear-connecting grin. A look of total ridicule. A look obviously sparked by the mini-van under me.
The look stung. I knew where it was from though so it only hurt for a moment. He saw my slow, wrong smile in recognition. His smile shrank to a smirk and then disappeared. I do believe that in a moment of actual telepathy he read my mind as I had read his. He saw in my mind his own rather remarkable changes in expression when I gut shot him with my .357.
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Re: Performance piece –or– It’s always the quiet loners, isn’t it?
nice descroption and a bit chilling in its observation. the closest i got was busking down baker street/marylebone road just after i'd actually got a job in publishing but not demanding or rich enough to give up the evening gig.
through came a trio of young suits just a bit older than i, one of them my twin except for the tie and shirt and tidy hair and hush puppies.
i was thinking 'hey, i have a desk job, i'm not just as you see me' but he had a twinkle in his eye as if 'so that's what i'd look like if i finally pluck up courage and take the old uke down the Kings Road.'
he also had a slightly superior look as if he'd averted danger.
it was just round from where i lived and as my fortunes prospered and *I* too started sashaying round in finery and frequenting wine bars, i looked for him on after-hours drinks - but nary a glimpse.
its a little unnerving to suddenly meet the mirror
By chris holmes on 15 January 2008 · 05:01
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