Friday, February 18, 2005
New in town, after staying with friends, I moved into a one-room apartment that a guy sublet to me. Nice guy. We knew some of the same people. He even helped me carry my stuff up the steps, and we had a last chat. As he got his coat on to leave, I noticed something on the floor by the refrigerator. I said, "Hey, what about your radio?" "Ah, keep it, that's okay," he waved as he left. I never saw him again. It had been playing when I visited him the first time, to talk about the sublet; sounded *really* good. What a nice guy!
I would pretty much just come in from work and crash, unless I stopped off at my friends' house or somewhere else and hobnobbed. Or sometimes I would bring somebody to see my new home. Then I would crash. Wasn't much sitting alone and looking around the room. I made sure of that.
But eventually, I realized that somebody else had lived there before the guy I met, and this person had left clothes (way too big for my sublet dude). A flannel shirt, which I wore for years, as a jacket. An actual jacket, of some smooth, shell-like material. It would wrinkle at the inner elbows a little, but never the back, and if I hung it up properly, when I went back to get it (never less than a couple of hours later), it was smooth.
There were also letters. One from his lawyer:"I won't let you ruin my credit." One from a girl:"I love you baby but then this kind of shit pops up. I am so scared."
Some tapes had fallen behind something. Cassettes, not 8-tracks, which was unusual then. One was the Yardbirds. The cover was obviously reproduced from an LP, one I'd never seen before. The Yardbirds, wow. With Beck and Page, their best lineup, I had thought at the time.I'd missed this one, and here we were, way into the 70s. I did have a cassette recorder, of the face-up type, with the little grey mesh screen, like something you could fry an egg on, in between leaving memos for your secretary. I put it on the dresser and played the tape. Beck flashed, then everything wobbled, and I thought it was all about to speed up and break. It didn't, even though I let it quaver through several songs.I never played it again, but still have it. I don't know what happened to the rest of that stuff. ¶ 2/18/2005
I would pretty much just come in from work and crash, unless I stopped off at my friends' house or somewhere else and hobnobbed. Or sometimes I would bring somebody to see my new home. Then I would crash. Wasn't much sitting alone and looking around the room. I made sure of that.
But eventually, I realized that somebody else had lived there before the guy I met, and this person had left clothes (way too big for my sublet dude). A flannel shirt, which I wore for years, as a jacket. An actual jacket, of some smooth, shell-like material. It would wrinkle at the inner elbows a little, but never the back, and if I hung it up properly, when I went back to get it (never less than a couple of hours later), it was smooth.
There were also letters. One from his lawyer:"I won't let you ruin my credit." One from a girl:"I love you baby but then this kind of shit pops up. I am so scared."
Some tapes had fallen behind something. Cassettes, not 8-tracks, which was unusual then. One was the Yardbirds. The cover was obviously reproduced from an LP, one I'd never seen before. The Yardbirds, wow. With Beck and Page, their best lineup, I had thought at the time.I'd missed this one, and here we were, way into the 70s. I did have a cassette recorder, of the face-up type, with the little grey mesh screen, like something you could fry an egg on, in between leaving memos for your secretary. I put it on the dresser and played the tape. Beck flashed, then everything wobbled, and I thought it was all about to speed up and break. It didn't, even though I let it quaver through several songs.I never played it again, but still have it. I don't know what happened to the rest of that stuff. ¶ 2/18/2005
