A brief reprieve from his Chief Lieutenant Pencil Sharpener* duties brings our prodigal shredder back into our midsts, armed with H9, axe, and harrowing tales of the Tanzanian night. With the right combination of ego-fluffing and tequila we managed to coax out some CCM tones – a proud sacrifice for the U2 gods – while capturing the elegance and intrigue of a state-hosted cocktail soiree in a Mediterranean seaside citadel where you've remembered which buttons of your jacket to leave open but forgotten to signal to the butler which of the artichoke-based hors d'oeuvres is laced with a fast acting but next to impossible to detect biotoxin.
*i.e. international assassin and rhythm collector
What will be truly missed is Asian Sunshine Funtime also known as Asian Sunshine Cuisine, formerly known as Nandina's, the restaurant/bar across the street and through the parking lot, with sushi and pineapple fried rice to die for, and who's patio busboys would offer to share a joint in addition to fetchin extra napkins and whisking your dishes away. There was also a rad water feature out front, a sort of mini-waterfall with some large square-ish rocks that somehow looked natural. Plus they stayed open till 3am.
Alas, all fantabulous things must meet their demise. From the ashes of Nadina's rises the chintzy phoenix of what looks like maybe a coffee shop? Some sort of sandwich place? With that upercase comic sans-meets-arial font such places are fond of.
Inside, ominously unsettled, threatening to churn and then God knows what, are the acidic remains of GAPC's Mediterranean pizza, almond cake, gin, fries (courtesy of Burger House), a bit of lower-middle shelf wine, and the dutiful pangs of remorse, of course of course.
A horse, after all, is, and, to be expected:
No wise men lined up, no stars to speak of, not even socks. Well intended company, the reckless insecure, a summit of shadowed valleys where rivers betray themselves and actions become ethereal recollections from long ago… dreams, not deferred, but demised.
It's not as bad. Everyone's gotta learn sometime. Everyone's got to go. It's spatial reconstruction. Matter.
Just off the green line is Red Line, a local burger establishment nomenclaturely victimized by a last minute re-labeling of the public transit light rail system (DART). The vast majority of the route is parallel to I-35E (north&south), mostly under eternal construction. Through and amongst the cranes and steamrollers glimpses can be had of carpet fabric outlets and wholesale automobile audio electronic shops, all mostly identical mid-90's PC beige warehouses along the Harry Hines stripper strip.
Having arrived at what I thought was MedPak station but is actually and less video game-ly named MedPark station, I await my ride to an unknown destination...
...Having just stepped off the A Train, I am reminded of Ellington's "Take the A Train" - the actual train, not the actual train Ellington is referring to, is QUITE smooth. It's like MagLev or something, gliding on a placid lake without so much as an occasional gentle lurch, a lurch of...
...Old Alton Bridge, which is nothing like the grandiose* covered bridges of Indiana...