Three steps into the crosswalk I gazed up into the super-human-sized eyes of four familiar faces. I did a timeless Abbey road suspension as a love-beam lasered out my sternum headed straight out for them.
Once upon a time they dwelt in the padded bulbous pods I used to crown myself "Ruler of the Record Player". A coiled umbilical cord enabled musical nutrients to flow between the stereo and my brain. Here I sat contentedly for hours nestled amidst the receiver and an old lurching piano. As reigning Queen, I was permitted to fly my bright yellow bean bag into their sound-land where I desperately hoped to stay permanently, perhaps quietly vanishishing into the horizon of heartbreaking harmonies.
White magic strings piped in the voice of a newly downloaded son (as in DNA-see above) while the tangerine and sunshine 45's flashed their insights.
The Sergeant Pepper purity of hard days and hard nights.
And yes, it was true that she did have me all those years ago and I had never had her, not even now-but now, that's yesterday and today I will let it be.
Walk light changes.
Pow! Hind-sight-red-flag. "Yeah, I never understood what the big deal was about the Beatles. I never liked them" he had said.
Too high on hope to acknowledge this break in the melody of treehouse-garden-dog-dream then, but now these radio waves flood over me. I'm awash in the broadcast but apparently, thankfully, I've managed to cross the street relatively unscathed.
Just a day in the life...
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