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  • initial impressions:
    slightly mechanical,
    shuffle of an unbalanced washer,
    a looping beat rising up and up and then
    dropping
    down, one two one two one,
    but take to the city and fret it with slack strings,
    limp it in shoes unsteady as they go but showing no sign of distress
    after all,
    it’s just a groove

    in the mall in preternaturally-pressed pants in hair dyed fresh maybe some of it someone else’s that’s okay there are plenty of grand pianos but they’re standing on idle they’re marked down to sell because in the front is the main attraction the main draw and he lifts a switch and then it’s a beat shuffling one two one two one and the boys stare and the girls stare and the men dream of paneled dens and the women dream of paneled dens and they all dream dreams of funk slightly mechanical but rising up and up and the plastic ferns lean in and the center fountain dizzy from its own heady chlorinated scent sings limply along.

    in the disco-tech the lights they light in brief impressions in quick lights flashing faces smiling serious swaying and bumping to beats looping an unbalanced washer and the main attraction is a dream of release fretted with flickering lights and walls pushed and paneled with thick bass beats and the scent of mall-purchased perfumes lean in on shuffling feet unsteady with heady grooves rising and the possibility rising of dreams away from polyester dens and one two one two one the bass sings a sharp slap and the men and women are leaning in and the funk carries them along, just for now clear, just for now clean, just for now sinewy and strong.

    on his dashboard it’s a white oldsmobile sporty big, armor-all’ed tires grinning chrome, on his dashboard is a Siren and a digital clock and she’s singing and the clock’s keeping flashing blue time and they’re both pushing him on and loneliness is drowned in speed streetlights drowning flicker past and the sweet curl of alcohol plus cold wind from all windows rolled down slaps against the song he pushes from his shallow lungs and chews with his unsteady jaw louder and louder and the beat through sleep keeps going on but duller muffled then when he wakes in his own bed and see his bachelor aesthetic in pressboard furniture and cans of hotdogs and beans, he thinks of his kids and does he remember us fixed staring at the unbalanced machine and its shuffling slightly mechanical beat, cowlicks and shorts and skinny legs and the all things that have now come undone

    in four seconds, a riot is going on. but for now, the blinds tap out a steady beat and the temperature starts to rise.

    [in a dream he had he hid in the closet of the den and waited for them to come home and he breathed heavy in the closet's thick air and when he heard them come in he couldn’t figure out what it was he planned to do then or if maybe he just wanted to see them and there was no plan at all but his head was spinning and when the police lights stood flashing he tried to explain that he lived there but the confusion and the lights drowned his voice out and they still cuffed him anyway and it was humiliating to be cuffed crying and wearing a sporty white suit and a pink shirt with an open collar and this was no way to be taken away and what about the neighbors who were leaning out their windows and what was the plan and this was no way to be taken away and what about the neighbors leaning out their windows and he tried to explain he lived there once.]

    for now, the blinds tap out a steady beat and the temperature starts to rise. he is in his own bed. but in four seconds, one two one two… one. - a riot.
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