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Sunday evening, I was in a gang fight.
My date and I were walking East along Stanton, past Clinton at dusk, when a group of about ten guys came barreling riotously in our direction. Turns out they were in momentary flight from the verbal bombardments of their rivals further down the block.
They swirled around us as if we were stones amidst their surging rapids.
“Hey, there’s Sin-e bar. Maybe we should check it out,” said my companion.” “Oh, OK.”
So we strode into no-man’s land between rival factions. Deploying taunts and hollers, swarming combatants periodically flooded the intersection, engulfing our stationary presence as we mulled the bar’s prospects:
“Hey, there’s a pool table...”
“And a guitar player.”
“Hmmm...”
“I don’t know, can we talk with the music?”
Coexisting, disparate, internally coherent realities.
While this scene bore the trappings of multiple invading hordes, there was no hoarding involved. In fact, when it came to the big topics of Time and Space, we were all most definately sharing.
Posted by mark at July 22, 2005 03:55 PM