window therapy ep. 1: elegy for the new seaside highway
July 25th, 2011 § Leave a Comment
11:42 PM Back to my four year routine, standing on a Siberian bus, warmed by a stranger’s breathing. The television recounts the nation’s stories for the day, a special treat, I suppose, for the latecomers–though leftovers, really–nothing new since the 6′o’clock news, except for me, the chance to stand here, see the sea, the bay at nighttime, which is nothing really, nothing without the moon, only black with specks of incandescence–repetitive, singular. I take notice of the new turns the bus would have to take, the delay, the restraint not to tread the way past the old limit, and after that the same old route. There are no extensions, only additions, new pauses, I take notice of the next stranger, and the next, their interrupted sleep, with every swerve, every turn that ends with a swing, my head tilting to recognize an old story onscreen.
