the music is last heard in the heartbreaking scene

in front of me at the corner store: a shouting and stomping off affair takes place and in the background I�m focusing on the subtle Indian music playing (how fine some songs go with falling apart or letting things fall apart).
So I try to imagine if or when or how things went wrong. I build scenarios in which the story finished some with them still smiling some with frowns and more shouts, broken bottles and arguments over who gets the chumbawumba record, which neither of them really want.
After they go, I try to put the rest of my night back in order and go outside to smoke a cigarette I earned just by watching all of that.


2004-10-22 | 11:28 a.m.
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