Louis Armstrong - St. James Infirmary
[ apropos ]
The thought crossed his mind as he mopped, he had been here before. There are far less callouses, less drops of sweat. even the handle was bent. Bent in a way that reminded him that shit used to be more difficult. Bent in a way that took him back 16 years. It wasn’t something that had to happen everyday, instead mopping now served as a reminder of time and distance. Miles per hour. In these new places he is not allowed to have absolute certainty about how life is or how it should be, but is asked repeatedly to consider that which he knows alongside that which is being presented, process it at a healthy pace, and carry the synthesis to the next thought. These places are filled with perspective and a history that matters. She mops everyday. He unlocks the doors everyday. She smiles everyday over the smell of the industrial cleaner that fills the air. She is where he was for different reasons. She is required to wear her employment status in a similar way that those far above do not neglect to remind us of theirs. clean and pressed. clean and pressed. clean and press. everything is clean. I can run in my dreams now.