But the fact that he’d never heard the Simpletons, not at a fest or a showcase, hadn’t run across an EP or had a friend mention them, that felt like a bad omen. He didn’t resent their success-god knows, anyone who could escape the Value-Village-sweater life was a good omen for the rest. It made his throat hurt, dry and burning like an approaching cold. They were local too, started out playing together at some high school on the Danforth, branched out to east end bars, signed to Arts & Crafts. The cover story was an article about a band he hadn’t heard of, called the Simpletons. He put the bags at his feet, knowing that he was no longer really at the bus stop, that if the bus came he stood a lesser chance of it stopping for him back here, but it was a cold day and he was tired. He waited at the bus stop for a while, trying to read a copy of the free arts weekly he’d shoved in with his groceries, but the wind kept yanking at the pages, rattling them until he staggered back into the doorway of an out-of-business costume shop to get out of the wind.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |