The transitions are always confusing. There's a moment where who, when, and where become paramount questions to be answered. Sometimes I'm not all that clear as to who I am or when I am in my own personal time-stream. After that moment, most answers become clear.
I am still me but I'm not sure what age I am as there are no reflective surfaces nearby. I think I'm about twenty because, somehow, that seems right. I'm in an alleyway? No, like a passageway, a hallway but outside, leading to an outdoor market. Brick walls, cool air, bright sunlight. People mill about me but I'm not alone as I'm with Johnny Marr.
Wait a minute, I am? So I am. Based on his appearance, I've gone back in time as he looks like a younger version of himself. Early eighties maybe? Have the Smiths hit big yet? Have they even formed? We work to get to our destination, whatever it might be, through the crowd.
We pause briefly and this is when Steven Patrick Morrissey arrives, bright eyed, hair carefully combed. A large man looms behind him, a truck driver that Morrissey bummed a ride from in exchange for the promise of ten pounds.
Really? That's a lot of money. Why couldn't he have just taken the tube? Typical Morrissey.
Johnny and I reach for our wallets. I haven't exchanged my money and still have American dollars in it. Will he take ten dollars instead? Or in addition to whatever Johnny has available? I hand over the money and promptly wake up.
Morrissey, what a mooch. Snore...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment