05/05/26
Glass. A New York city approaches the windscreen; still approaches as it slides, driver and passenger side; still approaches as it falls behind glass. I am in back, next to officer; capped – mirrorshades, he; blackglass. The back of the neck and ear of the driver; capped – cropped hair beneath; blond. Radio chat. The streets are daytime busy, but silent. For something to say, I ask of the difference between uptown and downtown My neighbour turns and I am in his shades. He flashes whiteteeth and says, we’ll drop you somewhere between. The officer driving must find some amusement here, for his neck, his ears, pinken.
Concrete. A New York city. Also, glass. Traffic noise. Voices. The cop car rides out into the flow of metal and glass, and is gone. I am alone in the crowd. Backstreets, sidestreets. Concrete; also, glass. A New York city. The air is engine hot; breathless. The air is scented; pizza, shoerubber, tobaccosmoke, launderedsweat.
Here is a recordshop. The door is open and I hear music; electricguitar, drums, saxophone; fourfourtime. Inside it is cramped with people and towering stacks of secondhandvinyl and tapecassettes. I begin to browse – there is no discernible order to anything. The chaos ushers quiet. I am handling a plastic spool of quarterinch tape when someone taps my shoulder. Turning, I find, with surprise and delight (for he is dead some years now), my dear friend Mik Tubb. He is dressed in pressed linen. He says, this is midtown.
Midtown is a phrase I have never heard or ever considered – awake or asleep – but it sounds right. I am also struck by how it resonates with his name.
nickreeves 