|
Alright, another edit, this could take a lot of work.
The street was filled with misfits, that night, and there was a terrible
buzzing in my ear, like feedback;
and as I walked, I saw children, with bottle caps in their shoes, dancing to some fatalistic tune
and a madman, shaking a dead flower, screaming.
The street was filled with life that night
and it filled me with life too, somewhat;
until I saw the man with the accordion.
The streetlamps flickered incessantly like a man trapped in a box, pounding against the walls of his glass coccoon. Everyone was a streetlamp, it seemed.
A man in a pristine suit with a briefcase and a three day beard,
curled up on a stair, weeping over the dead remains of a useless machine,
that had nevertheless once made a beautiful sound.
I walked over to him, and said-
"Why do you weep over an accordion?"
He looked at me with bloodshot eyes and stood up. Stinking of alcohol, dirt and piss he whispered in my ear as the stench stuck in my nostrils like a thick, black fume;
"I am the accordion."
I didn't understand.
I watched him disappear as he walked away, silently, throwing money into the air.
I kept walking, and I sat down on a bench cold to the touch, and my ass began to numb. It started to rain, and I still sat, sat until I was drenched down to the bone,
pelted by fat water bombs.
All of the people gathered.
|