Chapter 36: Sunset Town
Location: George’s Music
Orlando, FL
The sunset found me hiding out in Orlando
In front of the abandoned music store
Known to the locals as George’s,
Though I’ve not really met any true, Disneyless locals
So I couldn’t know if they call this empty vinyl, concrete box by that name
Maybe it was built for tourists
Maybe George thought, “Yes, drunk visitors will want to buy a guitar,
Sipping on the sting of spacious childhood dreams that didn’t quite poke thru the groundswell”
This sunset town runs on wanderers like me,
Only I’m not here for the concrete thrill of capitalism run amuck
I’m here to seek shelter from winter’s onslaught on the Catskills,
I’m here to find sanctuary in the quiet of daylight savings time,
To breathe in the wind that drifts gently through this brand new, cheaply constructed high rise hotel
Peering down gracefully on top of George’s Music
Where I stood outside with the daylight,
To soak up dust that glides through the sliding doors I’ve been trying to avoid, to no avail, boldly and fearlessly
I’m here curious, determined to see
If I can slide a schism into time’s lungs,
Or at least leave a kiss on its throat, to slow it down
But I suppose I can bathe in gratitude,
Happy to be hovering in the arms of the air,
Even if for a blip as we spin closer and closer toward the sun,
Gentle, rotating, imprinting oxygen into a photograph,
A snapshot that tells the story of my lackluster discovery
Of the ruins surrounding an imaginary man named George and his music,
A plot of pavement that turned out to be far more expansive
Than I ever could’ve imagined
A steel-tongued pillar where ground and troposphere greet each other,
Where movement and sound wrap themselves together, slowly, patiently,
Where oil and water have no regrets for meeting,
Despite the temporary expiration date for us trespassers,
Today, March, hours before the clocks roll forward,
An intoxicating notice twice-etched into the fickle glass entryway,
Embraced by blue siding, red and yellow accents,
Kissing a hazy, pulsating, sweat-stained sky
That beckons the sunset town to call it a day
And come back down from the cloud that soars ‘round’n’round this room,
Staring down onto the wanderlust of George’s crumbling rooftop,
Daydreaming of what’s inside,
Waiting for the day I’ll have a chance to see it for a much longer while
