Ben C. O. Grimm

So, there you have it. A karaoke bar in Japan goes up in flames. Picture the scene. Tired businessmen in wrinkled suits. Whisky on the rocks. Blurred faces, trying to hide the day's stress. The will to survive has accompanied them across the threshold. Shiny floors bounce their looks under waitresses' dresses. There is no home. It's a place outside the bipolar routine. During the day, these men are part of a team. They have their tasks ahead of them, and a code to push them into place. There's noise. There's activity. There's no real escape until the clock, the almighty clock, tells them to leave. The subway's their box. A moving cage with bodies hanging on with clenched fists and empty smiles. White gloves guide them. Suitcases are the backbone. A newspaper covers a face. The ads are the same every single day. No need to go home. Well, maybe for a meal and a small fraction of today's soap. And off, off we go. Glass facades enhance the bright lights. The door opens to buckets of ice cubes and mikes with yellow cords. The horses race, adhortations are shortlived, quenched in despair. Tomorrow the clock will await them. No time to waste. Relaxation is futile. The momentum is holy. Activity is the only point on the agenda. Sleep. Well, later. Come on, sing. You're sitting next to me, so be my friend. Be a screen between me and tomorrow. Blow your smoke. Louder! Drown out my thoughts. Don't mime, blurt it out. Follow the bright neon colored lyrics. Who cares what they mean, you'll never tiptoe through the tulips anyway. You'll be in a bus, holding a camera, collecting evidence to prove to yourself that you were actually there. You've taken the battery out of the clock, but it's still ticking away. Sing! Burning lace. Melting ice. A burning speaker. Never mind, there are two. Just sing louder. Okay, have a drink to stop the coughing, but don't stop. Never stop. A flash light. Good. Celluloid memories are all we have. When's my turn? Stop the screaming, burn in silence. Give me the mike! I don't care about suffocation. I'm here. I need to prove my presence. The remaining spectators are caught by the flames, but we'll go out with a bang. "I did it my way!". Can you see me go under in flames? Still smiling. What a way to go. Frank suffers his final heart attack, but his memory is burning. Alive and well behind the final curtain, where eager men await their turn.

© Ben C. O. Grimm