how lost tapes are born
Strolling down the street. “Clara’s live karaoke” is written in beautiful calligraphy on a blackboard right outside a photography store. A green-haired girl wearing big, mint galoshes sat leisurely on a plastic chair, plays guitar and sings to a handful of alternative kids. Soft, country sounds appeared visible in the air, floating about beautifully like pastel-colored feathers, upon the visit of Zephyr to the backyard, where you’re plucking the chicken, delighted in the knowledge that tonight will be special. My heart peaceful and loving, my ears honored, but myself too shy to sit here and submit myself to the curiosity of passersby, like the rainbow-haired kids sat on the sidewalk around Clara, checking their phones. So, I pretend to check out the variety of rechargeable batteries for sale in the store, before stealthily walking out to hide in the corner. The further I get, however, the music never seems to quiet down, like playing from inside me,...