The Sounds of Cement – Part II

Raining in Harlem right now early, which makes putting any of this down so much easier. I can hear everything cutting across the cement. It’s easier when there’s another layer involved. You can hear what’s underneath is you listen to what’s covering everything up. So, let’s continue setting everything up right here. Putting it all together now and might just have to take it off line for the construct, but I’ve promised to keep this whole process above ground, at least for the first draft. We’ll see if we can stay here. Okay now.

The Photographer

We still don’t have a name for this character – and that’s going to make it tough. Freeman or something like that. I have no idea. I’ll hit the phonebooks and then give it a go again. Let’s see what he’s thinking today.

I couldn’t believe it when Alberto called me and let me know what he was putting together. I had to clear my head and look for something to capture, but the city was still and I can’t accept still life these days. It’s hard to actually accept anything. I told him that I’d be in if there was a chance that I could display my work, which he actually liked. Said it would add some some value to the events. We’d hang photos around the walls of the Museum – I called it the museum and not by the French name – and the folks coming in would want to take a piece of it home. Also might give the place a little bit more of the transformation we were looking for. I stopped taking public transportation in those days and just started focussing in on what was there on the ground. So I walked to our initial meeting.

Where could the meeting be? Looking for someplace decent to have it take place. Perhaps on twin peaks? No, that is too above everything. Some place where there is constant movement. That’s difficult in San Francisco I think. Something is not working here – but I have to keep on pushing inside of the story. We’ll get it. The meeting place – Not in North Beach. We’ve been in that location too many times. Somewhere in the mission. Yes. The burrito spot. Yes. Okay. No. That bar. Oh damn, what was the name of that bar on 16th street in the mission?

I can’t remember now the name of that bar in the mission where we all met for the first time. It was just off of 16th street and Valencia. There was a back room with a piano that nobody played. The Front room – it’s strange because I can’t really remember the faces of anyone in there. Maybe it was just dark. No use of taking photos in the darkness. They were all waiting for me:

The vampire and her man, the bike messenger, the old guy who ran the museum – all of them talking. I guess they had started planning already or at least started drinking.

I was greeted warm and offered a beer right away. I handed the vampire her photos from our last gig and she slid the money back to me. Nobody really cared about the exchange.

Alberto leaned forward, then looked around to make sure nobody was listening.

“Okay – this right here – these people you see right here are the one’s who are going to give us what we need. Once we start in, it’s going to started up pretty fast and then explode, or implode since it’s not to be seen. I’m ready not to be seen anymore. Wednesday night – that’s the first event. Everyone cool with that?”

We all nodded and the questions started coming and before I knew it we were in this brainstorming session that would have rivaled that of an advertising company , but we were talking about husbands being beaten down and wives sipping tea while it was happening. We were talking about creating that high profile speakeasy not filled with jazz and dancing girls that would be replicated by Halloween costumes once people had enough distance in time and history to start and think about this in a nostalgic way. No. We had no intention bringing any of this above ground.


Time to go to work. Not sure how much longer I can hold out. My chest is exploding.


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