We met at the Tri-State Convention Complex.
A business meeting for sales and tech.
Everyone wore masks.
I hadn't been to the place in years.
All grey cement blocks and black iron railings.
Echoes sounding constantly; tinny and muffled.
The elevator was out of order; so I walked.
Four flights of stairs; no biggie.
The glassed in pavilion was bright gold
with neon and sun lamps.
Way too hot. If you ask me.
I showed my vax card and started on the veggie tray.
Outside the pavilion it grew dark and cold.
People coming in late complained of the cutting wind.
And that the rest of the place seemed deserted.
"They took out all the plexiglass" said a guy next to me.
"The place is a ghost town" said a women wearing white boots.
Suddenly I was afraid to go find the bathroom.
But I had drunk too much sun tea. I wandered out.
Yes. The wind was very cold.
The bathroom was unheated. Full of scraps of paper.
The mirror over the sink was metal, not glass.
My reflection blended into the cinderblock wall.
I no longer dreaded being outside the pavilion.
And I noticed dozens of others from the pavilion --
wandering away in all directions.
I didn't want to go back in.
So I took the staircase down one story to
the concession stands.
They were all closed. Howler monkeys prowled
the empty deep fryers.
To join their troupe I made obeisance to the Alpha male.
Rancid vegetable oil is delicious.
No comments:
Post a Comment