Bouncer - 2:6:1-7
After my usual shit, shower and shave, I’m spinning through the Lustral’s over-sized revolving doors towards my neighborhoods last remaining refuge;
The “Brainwash.”
If you’ve ever flipped through a National Geographic or perused the Discovery Channel or – at least – been to high school, then you know; the ability to survive hinges on the ability to adapt.
This also holds true in the business world.
In defiant reaction to the past decade’s flailing economy, the city has begun to evolve by breaking out into a pandemic of creatively trendy, multi-purpose business establishments. It’s not a used book store anymore; it’s an art gallery with an espresso machine and a toaster that just happens to sell used books or, perhaps, it’s an ethnic “fusion” restaurant and bar with a cabaret license and an open mic. In this case however, the Brainwash is a laundromat cleverly disguised as an Internet cafe with a bi-weekly poetry night. Upon entering, you might notice the pseudo-iconic, religious candles lining the windows or that the ceiling is edged with terrifically cheesy red, star-shaped twinkle lights’. Every available wall of this kitch Shangri-La has been brightly indoctrinated with framed collages of old Maytag pin-up propaganda. All the tables and chairs, which look as though they were rescued from the city dump, are very purposely mismatched, reconditioned and then arraigned into careful disarray. If you close your eyes -- and this is my favorite part -- you might hear a lone saxophone preaching in time to the HUM-SH-SH of thirty plus washers or maybe even a few words from the gospel according to Miles Davis weaving in and around the FOOM-CHIK-FOOM of a double load dryer or, like now, the moody wisdom of a local cellist stuffed into a corner, weeping a quiet hallelujah.
It's brilliant, it’s convenient, and it reeks pleasantly of fabric softener and coffee.
As I cross the brushed aluminum threshold of the Brainwash, it’s all I can do just to keep myself from genuflecting.
After my usual shit, shower and shave, I’m spinning through the Lustral’s over-sized revolving doors towards my neighborhoods last remaining refuge;
The “Brainwash.”
If you’ve ever flipped through a National Geographic or perused the Discovery Channel or – at least – been to high school, then you know; the ability to survive hinges on the ability to adapt.
This also holds true in the business world.
In defiant reaction to the past decade’s flailing economy, the city has begun to evolve by breaking out into a pandemic of creatively trendy, multi-purpose business establishments. It’s not a used book store anymore; it’s an art gallery with an espresso machine and a toaster that just happens to sell used books or, perhaps, it’s an ethnic “fusion” restaurant and bar with a cabaret license and an open mic. In this case however, the Brainwash is a laundromat cleverly disguised as an Internet cafe with a bi-weekly poetry night. Upon entering, you might notice the pseudo-iconic, religious candles lining the windows or that the ceiling is edged with terrifically cheesy red, star-shaped twinkle lights’. Every available wall of this kitch Shangri-La has been brightly indoctrinated with framed collages of old Maytag pin-up propaganda. All the tables and chairs, which look as though they were rescued from the city dump, are very purposely mismatched, reconditioned and then arraigned into careful disarray. If you close your eyes -- and this is my favorite part -- you might hear a lone saxophone preaching in time to the HUM-SH-SH of thirty plus washers or maybe even a few words from the gospel according to Miles Davis weaving in and around the FOOM-CHIK-FOOM of a double load dryer or, like now, the moody wisdom of a local cellist stuffed into a corner, weeping a quiet hallelujah.
It's brilliant, it’s convenient, and it reeks pleasantly of fabric softener and coffee.
As I cross the brushed aluminum threshold of the Brainwash, it’s all I can do just to keep myself from genuflecting.
5 comments:
fantastic piece of writing. you really make the reader feel like she is "there." this is another reason why you are NOT allowed to ever submit your story for publication. damn it. you're good.
HOLY CRAP YOU WROTE THAT?! I assumed Bouncer was a book already out there (and I was writing it down on my to-read list just as I read G's comment). DARNIT! PUBLISH! NOW! I'm ready to go to Green Apple and get my first dozen copies. Just tell me when.
And okay, seriously, that is the BEST onomatopoeia I have EVER seen. And my onamato-infatuation aside, this is also a perfect and fabulous description and I love love LOVE it.
I appreciate the chapter and verse reference.
I agree with CTFS, you have a knack for creating an environment.
I'm interested in the main character and why he describes the place this way (slightly cynical) yet he goes there.
You're an artist of more than medium. You gotta way with words.
Keep, keep, keep it up! (Throws computer out the window) Man, you're good. Impeccable!
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