There’s a bridge and a tower, and you only go under one, and you’re never supposed to enter the other. This is what life is like here.
The bridge can be a sign. Most days it is a portal. Underneath and through, there is another city.
A city inside the city. A city inside what you remember of the city.
Underneath and through, there is a boy and you are riding bikes to a bar. Or there is a boy, and you are sleeping on a bed you made, 10 feet off the ground. Or there is a train, and tracks, and they are difficult to cross.
In the city inside the city, it is always summer. You are making guacamole in his kitchen. Later, you will ride your bike down to the market, set up in a parking lot just this side of that bridge. You will buy eggs and wrap them in a hoodie, place them carefully in your bag for the ride back home. He will be asleep when you get there. He always is. You will read a book for class, listen to headphones, pile into his roommate’s room to watch a horror movie with the door closed.
You don’t want to wake him up. You can’t.
April 25, 2009, 11:20am Comments
