03:00, and most of Cincinnati sleeps. Even Ludlow avenue slumbers, except the Skyline chili parlor. An attractive, young, though gently used, waitress stands outside its doors, catches my gaze, smiles, and takes a long slow draw on her cigarette. I incline my head, return her smile, and cross the street.
Naught concerns me now except sleep, certainly not pleasure.
The street; Amber and Sepia tinted, the asphalt stretch of Clifton avenue gleams under the early morning moonlight. Gaslight glows, the occasional car’s headlights reflect off the stretch of black and gray tarmac sheets. Burnett woods lies dark, and forbidding, on my left. Light posts placed along its meandering wood paths shine forth from between the trees, promising both danger and giddy experiences.
Clifton is a nexus, between Cincinnati’s dreams, both pleasant and disturbing, its ideals, and its aged, tradition choked, realities. The day’s sensibilities melts across the night’s liminal, silken, sheets.
Another day draws to a close, hustles ended, cash counted. I slow my footsteps down the street.
Sitwells opens at 07:00. Enough time for 4 hours of sleep. The town’s winding handle falls slack, the ticking second hand slows imperceptibly. A re-winding, that can wait. wait for later. My hands unconsciously pats my bankroll, making sure its still there. Firm, solid, dependable. Bargeld, reserve notes, paper wad, hard earned, sweat soaked, coke powder dusted, passed around by one dirty faced angel to another, and now mine for a time, to evaporate soon like mercury left out far too long. To glitter, melt, poison, and entrance.
Few things in this waking dream of a world today seem dependable. And now, it is 16:44 in shanghai, a supplier awaits my call, once back in my lair, I have 15 minutes left in the business day, fully around the world. While we sleep others are awake, the world never stops turning, though slowly, by imperceptible shifts, it cools, and slows, and slouches towards heat death.
I grew up around Clifton. I used to hang out in Sitwells as a high school student, pretending that I was cooler than I really was, playing chess with my friends while trying to ignore the smoke (did they ever outlaw indoor smoking?).
I haven’t been back there in almost 10 years. Thanks for bringing back some memories.
Really? A small world then.
The place still reeks of smoke even 3 years after a smoke ban. You should drop by again, some time.
“Really? A small world then.”
Indeed. The other morning I responded to one of your comments on another blog (the open this set thread): “In the end, we are all interconnected, strand by strand, everything to everything else.”
That afternoon, my best friend from high school, A., got online, and we chat a bit. So then I tell her, “I’ve been reading an interesting blogger who is near Clifton.” I gave her the link, because I thought that hey, this person is local, and it might be neat for them to meet.
She took a look at your site, and said, “Do you know what kali-yuga means? I said no. So she explains it, that it’s Hindi, and Kali is a female deity of negativity, and Yuga is age. A few seconds later… “Oh my god. You found my friend. I just called him. That’s so odd that you sent that to me. I just called him. I mean it.”
What are the chances of that happening, statistically speaking? Interesting synchronicity, wouldn’t you say?
Oh yeah, her 🙂
Synchronicity seems to become her life and my life alike.
Treis peculiar.
Now that is weird.
Clifton.
Is highly weird.
You get a lot of respect from me for writing these hefplul articles.