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thousands are sailing
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christopher@30seconds.org
No, what pissed me off was they left my music behind. All my CD's sitting right there in the seat. What, not marketable? I could see the pawn broker now, "No, we can't use that one..." Bastards. Then I saw the empty jewel box lying there open on the floorboard, safety glass reflecting off the cover...shit. They got one. The one. It was in the CD player.
I got all the money from the insurance company for the stereo, but could never bring myself to replace it or the missing CD. My collection just suffered. The car soon died, besides I had the MGA anyway so I really didn't need a stereo. Anyone who has ever ridden in an MGA (or any MG) will understand this last point. I really don't remember what I did with the money. I'm sure I drank half of it...
After a while I forgot the CD and where it came from. I have so much other music I never really realized how much I missed it. Its mandolin. Its harsh intent. Like a field of cowslip's...yeah...bright and yellow under an overcast sky. I forgot its guitar. I forgot Shane's voice. The way he belted out beautifully written lyrics from a throat perpetually filled with the darkest Irish stout. The way it remined me of the happiness within the sad. The way it suffered. The way it pulled me and my crew through some of the longest kitchen shifts imaginable. And the way it always, without a doubt, made me want to drink.
So it came as a complete surprise when on Valentines day I opened a package from my fiance and for the first time in nearly four years stared at the face of Shane MacGowen, with one condition; I could only listen to it when she wasn't around. Well, she's working tonight and I'm not. I'm tipping back a glass of stout and turning it up loud. The fellow downstairs just moved out anyway...
So here's to the Pogues. To myself. To you. To all of us...
goodnight 2.17.98
