"Put it Behind You Now" Keane
The haze smelled good. It was a blend of lilac and purple and smelled of a man's man's drink. But what was this fleeting imagining of sunsets and hands dangling out of car windows, lifted and pulled and yanked by the wind. The idea of not losing a hotel keycard, and wondering which restaurant in town would be open late enough for him tonight. Was it enablement. Was it independence. Was it the kind of money his younger version imagined him having one day. How easily he navigated Salt Lake City -- it did not matter that he'd not been there before. The streets followed grids followed hills followed streams followed people followed commerce followed history followed future. He had seen this play out and knew the patterns well and what local deviations existed he felt he could decode well enough to know which corner would have a bar. But what he craved was the moment between the warm afternoon and the cooling night. The moments when the light was golden. The moments at the precipice of a craving. The hour in the early evening that still allowed for the full array of options for the remainder of the night. It was the moment of potential. And what was this--a stiff collar too and nice jeans and an easy smile. Even strangers were responding to this.
