Touching from a Distance [2]
‘The Message’ or at least a version of the rhythm track spills out of the Buick’s windows. From my vantage point the sound leaks through from the concerns of another age. I’m sat in the car parked next to it in an industrial lot. Remembering. People pissing on the stairs because they just don’t care. But the lyrics belonged to some other place, equally distant, vicariously sampled. The Buick itself whispers ‘old timer’ at upstarts in their hybrid imports. Young Turks with nervous smiles, never really sure what they’re laughing about except that when the laughter ends, the trouble begins.
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