December 18, 2012 § Leave a comment
Voices speak to me. I answer with the same voice: familiar, unknown, naïve. A conversation from the 21st century to 1921 when the hall first stood, looking down to the railroad tracks, to the foothills, up to Brooklyn Heights and onto the wetlands.
There’s a hint of accent. Scent of fresh cut meat and burning trash from the incinerator. Russian, Californio slang, Jewish Deli and strong Japanese tea. “Keep the automobiles moving. Keep ’em moving, now.”
I don’t know what to say, how to answer. The red walls talk for me, say what needs be said. The dark wood and shadows whispering that everything will be okay. Everything will be okay, son. Just close your eyes tight. Be still. Quiet. They won’t see you.