Downtown This Night Is All Gone
Everyone has gone home for the holiday, leaving the entire floor empty as midnight. So I carefully pull my headphones from the jack and let the pulsing synth of Woven's new album "Designer Codes" loose under the halogens. The first note of Trumpeting Strength spurts out like a fire hose, landing hard against a line of file cabinets along the wall and quickly pooling on the gray carpet at my feet. The cube soon fills to the brim and spills over into the next like an enormous ice cube tray. Places that usually house eight hour batches of complaints and exceptions now fill one-by-one with cymbal crescendos. As the sound deepens in Fragments, three ring binders and toner cartridges take float and clink heavy echoes against each other in the waves. I've climbed to the top of the copy machine, which is quickly picked off the floor by the tide and stays anchored only by the cord still plugged to the wall. The Soundtrack To A Chance Meeting dances in eddies between my toes. I place my head against the glass and begin photocoping my thoughts as I fall asleep. I think it's important to capture a memory of them in a frame on my desk on Monday. I crumple the photocopy of that thought about the frame and toss it into the sea of Nothin so I can remember only unconsciousness. The paper floats for a minute, unfolds slightly, becomes saturated, and sinks. To catch the current of She Blows My Amplifier, I reach down and pull the cord from the wall. Thankfully, the hallway is long and straight and I've got all weekend.