Blackpool, England.
The land that time, and every one and thing, forgot. Off season at tired, old sea side resort towns is depressing in a comforting way. For a few years I worked in a studio in Rockaway, Queens. The studio was a block off the beach. During the summer the trains and buses would be filled with people. I think that some were looking form sort type of reprieve from the city while others just wanted to see the ocean. Just like Blackpool most everything in Rockaway shut when it got cold. I guess that less and less of it reopens each year. It took wandering around for a while before I found some people. A few small shops open. Just enough to sustain the winter inhabitants. The people that live here. I am here for some unknown reason. I know I am here for a show, but I don't know why that show is in Blackpool. Doesn't make any difference. And I don't need to know so I don't get told. The day after this I will be in London for two shows. Not looking forward to the big city drama. What am I looking forward too?
I don't know. Seemingly not much as I sit here thinking about it. Nothing really comes to mind.
I just turned on the water and let the tub fill up in anticipation of a hot bath. When I walked back into the bathroom a moment later the tub was filled with murky yellow water.
The bath helped a little. It didn't solve anything, it's just a bath.