"The Phantoms are the apples that appear in front of you."
Something is coming to the surface for me. I am remembering the lyrics to the song that has been stuck in my head since I arrived here. I smell a room with cigarettes extinguished twenty years ago and the staleness of melancholy.
I remember watching the stranger. I visualize this man. A sad man looking for something righteous.
He sits with his two-toned faded guitar sober in the corner of a bar. He carries reddish bags under glossy eyes. His weight is pressing his patience as flabs of fat flow over his belt-less pants. Something does not fit him. White hair that couldn't care less about direction or ridicule. Slow strums follow off-beat drums in his mind.
His voice cracks as he sing,.
'Welcome back to the land of the living, You were gone too long in the deep calm. I was tucking into bed with my dolly, wet with feeling I was puffed out and numb."
He is a man with a story to tell. A suffering inspiring me to discover my own.
Comments