Not Another Dream Job?
I was surprised to find out that the overnight desk clerk over at the Queen's Inn hadn’t seen Jarmusch’ Night Train… “are you into films?” he asked me. I told him how I’d kinda given up for the most part on movies as even the so-called underground indies seemed all formula these days. All high realistic tales from tiny little towns, made specifically for Sundance. You know well written but tounge-twisted little plots, most with unsatisfying non-endings… I guess there’s no harm in bringing the craft down a notch, I thought immediately as I said this.
He spoke of his music, I spoke of a mission in re-univenting myself, rebuilding unfinished sculpture, pretending as we drove the fast way uptown on my secret little back street, I told him I was taking this route as, first it was faster and skipped all the lights and that it allowed me to send magical vibrations to a loved one whose place we’d drove by. He dug it and asked me what books I’d been reading… “I’ve kind of given up on books too…” I told him how’d I’d run out of time to read any longer as I’ve simply left myself too much to do. He got it but said all the same, you should read Miller… “…really” I said, shaking a bit, “…you’ve just spooked me… man.” As, this was the gist of an earlier vibration.
As I stopped, pulled into his driveway to drop off the over-night desk clerk a way up on Montreal. I mentioned I might pop into say hello one evening if I were walking back from Musiikki and tapped on the taxicab medallion, my licence to drive I have dangling from my dashboard… “ever think of getting one of these, I bet you’d get into it?” He shook his head for a moment as he told me “I’d love to…” but cars petrified me.” He sounded a bit tired but quite happy to be doing the dream job he’d been given. “It’s really just great having a job… man” he told me as he popped outta the cab.