The old couple has a bookstore on the boulevard
I only see it at night around closing time
The old lady has a mouth, she does all the talking
The old man stares from behind the counter
From behind her
He shuffles, grunts, mumbles under his breath
I don't think he likes me
I like this store, I have been here before
They've got books you can't find anywhere else
Latest writings by authors long dead
Rare works I was not aware ever existed
(Of course, perhaps, maybe they don't...)
Well they rudely remind me it's closing time
And they want my host eyes to leave
Gotta make a change (can't explain how)
Who am I with now?
She's been working there part time, I think
Overtime on black wet Sundays
Not much of a life
She doesn't miss her time much
There's a small apartment upstairs, around back
They wouldn't rent it out to just anyone
It's rented out to this girl
I'm her shadow tonight
As I have been, it seems, on other nights
She's sensitive, shy and lonely
Getting older, sort of plain
She doesn't like herself very much
Thinks most of her life's been spent in vain
In her quiet dim lit room
The darkness leaks in from outside
From the black humid sky
To the shadows that hover in the corners
All around
Heat that simmers up the smells
Of paint, carpet, old clothes and
All the personal scents inside a dwelling
Like a fingerprint, no two exact but many alike
Tonight again she's sad
She's argued with the old woman
Who is harsh and blunt
A sensitivity flattened and razed
By years of hard living
The old woman doesn't trust her to pay
And has too many rules for her not to break any
The girl is disturbed, upset
Her living space is in jeopardy
She has nowhere else to go
And probably no way to start over again
No one to turn to for help
Her too small apartment and her stressful job
Are all she has
Not true, not totally
She has friends
And at times like this she remembers them
I've seen her party with them before
Amber drink from the bottle
Feel less pain and laugh it off for a while
She's not lonely then, those nights are good
But most nights are like this
You think you're alone but I see you
Your guard comes down and you cry
And I know
Your soul is like this night
A choir of despairing voices
Coming out of the dark
Into your room...into the shadows
Touching and merging with the darkness
In your heart
She likes this place,
And though she hates the old bitch
She'd hate to let it go
A private place where she can be
A person no one knows
Naked walks at midnight
Through the shelves of printed treasure
Sensual, alive at last
Dark solitude and pleasure
The freedom of the unknown place
Depopulated store at night
A place to fully be herself
Free spirit coming up for light
The most light it may ever see
Outside of in her head
Better late at night than never
Better 3 a.m. than dead
Feel I'm slipping- got to go
Hate to leave you crying
But I'm one of those voices on the night
My signal fades, dying
Don't sit alone
If you can, call some friends
Who'll understand and change the mood
To something higher, just to get you by
I like this place
I like you too
It's a sure bet I'll remember you
You both have cheap class
And that's the richest kind there is
And if I get cast this way again
We can looks through the books
And dance naked in the aisles after midnight
Celebrate freedom surrounded by knowledge
Cloaked in mystery and the force of life
I'd like to see you again sometime
Yes maybe I'll see you
Somewhere
Down the line
G.S., 6/20/91