The Wax Conspiracy

Closed Mondays

Shoes by the bed, no laces. Pants over the heater, a belt with no clip. Shirt on the wicker chair missing every other button. A pencil lays on its side showing the only evidence of the internal struggle hours before. Shirts, pants and then the shoes. No socks. Not the right weather for it. A conservative breeze sweeps the hair and then out the door. Just before the sweat kicks in.

The map unfolds neatly from the napkin dispenser from the Silver Spoon. Faint, but enough to get by. He follows the trail, laid bare by cryptic puzzles hanging neon in theatre marquees. Each premiere slips a word, long enough to pass the message before swapping it out for the next feature.

marquee getting all dolled up
get fit for music

Business is down across the town and they're a week from being run down. Little light is the turnover, the journey between is of no particular hurry. The theatre owner/manager nods as he fishes the letters from the sign.

Through Leander of Wilco County, Texas, it's time for the verb. One more in the entire equation leading itself along a path broken out across the napkins. Staying near death in each town's cheapest motel long enough before the shoes off are on again.

Free-flowing tissue paper from endless steel boxes, ready to cut you dry in the mouth corners. The built-in protection. This is what you get relying on the freedom of the condiments.

Sinking teeth into Russian samizdat bears the rotten fruits of self-instigated state-run persecution. Makes for good literature on the long walks through dismal places.

These New Young Turks, nothing like the Old New Young Turks. Who in turn were nothing compared to the Young Turks of old, new in their resident dissidence. At least, in spirit only.

You can't buy the liberal mindset of the modern times. It sells itself out, shedding all clothes, skin and any sign of decency or resolve. Don't buy what you can get for free. A little blood never hurt those without haemophilia.

We have our map and we have our shoes. We've got that. Now all we need is tomorrow.

And a tall drink of water.

Ethan Switch

Written on Sunday, 17 October 2010

The Wax Conspiracy

Related

Tagged

Recently by Ethan Switch