The metro tracks ran through my grandmother’s backyard. A small tunnel hugged the north side of the property, and every few minutes a quiet train would roll through. We had to be careful as kids, to avoid the trains, as there was no fence or anything separating the yard from the rails. Later on, we would call our friends, and watch them on the video screen.
Bill showed up in the back seat one day, completely unexpected. I got into the car imagining an extremely early dinner at the Lowenbrau Keller (it was 10:45 am) and when I turned around there he was. All I could saw was “where to?”
He was benignly menacing presence (portly, beret, finger-waving), and was clearly not a friend. I turned right onto the street despite him asking for a left. When he insisted, I imagined myself spinning a quick u-turn to extract him from the auto, secret-service style, but my vehicle was not yet capable, so a slow correction was all that was possible.
Later, as we tumbled down the stairs (by this time there were three) it all felt very over the river and through the woods - to a small, formerly undisclosed interior bar. I saw some disturbing images of her, which caused my heart to fall out.
‘Dispatch’ collage integrating AM antenna into the composition.