Dancing in the Dark Read Online Free

at the south end of the city must have 10’ waves,
    nothing like a tsunami but big,
    & the television set full of colour
    shows the B.C. fans in t-shirts the cheerleaders in short skirts
    & Austin has just thrown a big long one for about 65 yards. “Pizza”
    he says, “B.C. wins, I pay.” He hates football, loves computers
    & basketball, is working now, good quality dark green corduroys,
    makes a big paycheque for 25. “Anchovies,” she says; “No,” he says;
    “You’re cruel,” she says, & Passaglia kicks the big one
    that wins the game, & the B.C. crowd goes wild.

TOM & SLACKER COMING HOME AT 4 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING
         Night in the city
                                 splash of burnt mauve
    across the end of an alleyway,
                                    must be old paint. Slacker
    aka Alec
       Harrison & Tom, walking home from the BamBoo Club
    up Beverley & over to Huron, named after the Hurons
    who lived in Ontario
                      before there was a Ford Motor Company
    of the World
         or those old General Electric red brick buildings
    along Dupont west of Yonge Street. “What do you think, Tom,”
    Alec says, “what
               do you think of the city?” “Great, man,
    just
    fucking great.” Tom is drunk, stumbling slightly, steel rims
    in his jacket pocket
                    he has a long pink t-shirt on
    & the t-shirt says N  I  R  V  A  N  A . “So,”
    says Alec, aka Slacker, “what do you think of the scene,
                                         the cool
    Lauras & Harolds,
                 at the Left Bank & the BamBoo?”
    “Hey,” says Tom, “Slackers with expense accounts
    & cordless telephones, fettuccine with eggplant & Italian sausages.”
    “No,
    no,” says Slacker, aka Alec Harrison, “Slackers with nose rings
    & exposed underwear
    defying gravity.” “Yeah,” says Tom, “gravity, man, gravity.”

SLACKER DUMPS ON CUSHY ROCK LYRICS
         Tom & Slacker live together for about 3 months
    – it’s a 2nd floor over an appliance store
                 on Broadview
    in the east end. 2 guys, both in their 20s,
    they get along very well. Tom’s philosophy books are piled up
    beside his armchair
                    in the living room,
    which has a view of Broadview. Slacker’s tapes are piled up
    on top of an orange crate bookcase
    at the far end of the room. They have separate beds,
    in case you were curious,
    1 bedroom & 2 beds. They both shower quickly,
    Slacker is neat,
             they split laundry duty on a weekly basis,
    & their eating habits are fairly similar –
    hamburgers,
         pizza, take out hot&sour soup from Bo Bo’s,
    Chef Boyardee spaghetti. Slacker wears work pants,
    Tom wears corduroys. They argue about music, that is
    Slacker
     says, “Okay, the Mahler stuff, I don’t disagree
    with it. But you’ve got really bad taste in rock lyrics.
    Like all intellectuals, you don’t get the point. You like
    Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith too much. Post punk new
    wave isn’t supposed to make semantic sense. It’s free form because
    free form makes me relaxed,
                                 and it
has to have
irrational bursts
    of senseless bass violence
    because I’ve got aggressive circuitry in my left occipital zone.

    I agree I listen to too much of it,
     Okay, Tom,
    Okay?”

SAM & A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS
         We were sitting up on the roof a few nights ago, it was about 2 o’clock in the morning, it was hot, we were eating crackers and some pale yellow Kraft cheese from the 7-11 and demolishing 2 or 3 litres of cheap white Spanish wine. I guess there were about 7 or 8 of us. It was late and it was casual. You could hear faint traffic sounds coming down from Queen Street in the dark air.
    We’re all