Storey to storey - building to building - street to street - we pass each other*
Near the bridge, near the old life, ambling through the burrows of relating, our wrists stamped with love, gummy carpet underfoot, tiled walls perspiring as we hug the bar, demanding to be watered, the crowd filling the negative spaces until I can no longer see my boots, the stink of hops thickening the air like arrowroot, filling my nostrils like curried sawdust.
Listened to by walls - we share the same spaces - repeated in the corridors - performing the same movements*
I like this crowd, they’re my people. The atmosphere is pissed-merry, the feeling moves through me like a river as the music gives us reasons for being. I inhale old decades in the shape of radio hits – songs about suicidal blondes and guns in the sky, anthems about getting kicked and staying young. A convincing vocalist, warm and handsome, bellows out don’t change and just keep walking as he works the stage like a feline, open palm extended to the night as punters move like spirits, fluid and translucent, dancing out of time, all of us orbiting and shifting in this familiar territory of who we were and who we are now. At this moment, in this den, we inhabit our best selves. We are majestic.
Climbing as we fall - we dare to hold on to our fate - and steal away our destiny - to catch ourselves with quiet grace - storey to storey - building to building - street to street - we pass each other on the stairs*
- Margaret River ©