Read this like you are watching a John Cassavetes film.
an unnamed protagonist shares every detail of their weekend one summer in may until one unfortunate event ends it.
every Friday and Saturday night, 148 West 133rd street in Harlem becomes a b.y.o.b. jazz club called Bill's Place.
it was dark. we were young. 7-11 was the center of our universe.
a lot of things had to happen for this to happen, for us to be here in this room together. at least a million little things in sequence, but i'm only aware of the weather.
news, printed on paper is dying. and in its final moments, it needs me. i know i'm not alone with these feelings.
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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