Friday, May 21, 2004
sunday's work on a thursday evening
The Russian knows his rock and roll. He knows how to move, and he knows how to make the rest of us in the laundromat move in turn. It's not the life he's chosen, it's the life he was born unto, but left undiscovered until escaping to America. He intermittenly removes his clothes from the dryer, alternating this with periodic air guitar solos and sudden dramatic jabs to the air with his clenched fist. The chord to his headphones sways lazily down to the walkman clipped to his belt. This is the best version of "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" I've ever heard.
The Russian knows his rock and roll. He knows how to move, and he knows how to make the rest of us in the laundromat move in turn. It's not the life he's chosen, it's the life he was born unto, but left undiscovered until escaping to America. He intermittenly removes his clothes from the dryer, alternating this with periodic air guitar solos and sudden dramatic jabs to the air with his clenched fist. The chord to his headphones sways lazily down to the walkman clipped to his belt. This is the best version of "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing" I've ever heard.
