the autobahn club volume one

"what's up?"
"robert? long's it been?"
"i don't know...a year, maybe two?"
"what's have you been doing?"
"i don't know...i've been around. what are you doing tonight?"
"you still live in the same place?"
"yeah, tichnor terrace."
"can i stop by?"
"yeah. when are you coming?"
"'s just me here. i'll see you in a few minutes."
"see you later."

let's not start just there. let's back up some.

i was working at this little record store called No Sex, a good job, all things considered, at least it was then. I'd gotten the job fort eh waitover till i started a job with an airline nearby making pretty damn decent money and damn sure finer than No Sex was giving me, btu the gig didn't start till mid january. it was november and i needed a job now. so i took up the No Sex job and put a few pennies in my pocket in the meantime. it was a good gig. everyone stayed pretty much out of my face, and i got spend most of my shift swimming through rows of good jazz and books, a little rock. those were mostly my sections. anyway, i'm a pretty laid-back type so it was nice. good music. music nerd sorroundings, they even let us make out own mix tapes to play in store, which was nice.

i'd been a music nerd every since about sixth grade when i smuggled a copy of the cassette that was banned in our house, Joshua tree, by u2. i spent way too much time listening to it, and further, studying music. anyway, it was a hoot and all, i just smiled wide and looked through the day, enjoyed most moments, more. somewhere along the way i got lost inteh stacks of music, the crates of sound, and piles on piles of new things and new to us or just new. somehow i lost myself in all of it.

piles, met a studio lesbian, survived all of that, met kimberly, moved through like tides (you'll hear more of her later, in some other time and story) and liked loved the days as they passed, as most should and some do (can't say more and wouldn't) but my, how days blew by and i was the bomb that blew a few new stories in the ages and listened to good new jams on the way.

on breaks through holiday seasons moved slow and steady to the outside, mass of sweat and stank and steam on everything, then an elec tric door opens and you're standing in the motioncensor between two worlds, one cold and strangely welcoming, one bubbling hot and serving up only a dry sort of hatred, despite the music and signage: retail holiday madness.

a thick wooden bench sprawls (three seater) horizontal to the door, and there, laying out, head and feet on the armrests, was how i first heard him talking to me. the first time i met oz.

2004-01-21 | 7:14 p.m.
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