There was a fountain in a pedestrian square close enough to our hotel that I was “allowed” to go by myself. At least I could get away for a cigarette and some peace.
The fountain was never on, so I could sit on its edge. All I needed was my Walkman, a pack of cigarettes and the copy of Interview magazine I picked up.
I’m back home now from the States. I’m in the little room, looking through that issue of Interview for the millionth time and listening to the radio. They’re playing Pat Benatar. It’s not bad, but it’s not good. I’m too tired to crawl over to the stereo to change the station or put on a mix tape. Sometimes it’s good to listen to AM radio just to see how lame it is.
The trip was pretty much what I thought it would be except of course for Mark. Not my Mark — the other Mark, the guy I met by the fountain in the square. He bummed a cigarette and we talked about music. He had a friend with him who had an albino ferret. I snuck out of the hotel to hang out with them one night and my brother told my parents. I’m grounded, but like it matters. I fish the scrap of paper Mark (the new Mark) wrote his phone number on out of my pocket and think about calling him. He has his own line so he said I could call any time.
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Image: Pat Benatar, MTV: Who’s Who in Rock Video, Zomba Books, 1983.
Welcome to the Little Room is a series of 250-word re-imagined vignettes from my ’80s youth with a focus on music and style. It appears weekly on periodicult.com.
