It’s about the time where there’s 200 miles left to go that you realise its going to be a long night. 200 miles ‘til either the sun comes up or the voice on the radio changes. But where do you go? Except forward. Forward, in a van, with an obsolete company name scratched off by speed, distance and time. The time is the propeller. No time to say hello. No time to say goodbye. But time to drive. Definitely time to drive.
3.20am, 95.8fm
The eager young science teacher of the 3am to 6am slot informs the insomniac and international audience of what I’ve known was going to happen for a good few hours. Not massive news to anyone, wherever they may be in their beds. The man in the van, already on his way ladies and gentlemen, no need to panic, no need to adjust your frequencies, the man in the van is already on his way. I look out ahead and realise the ticker tape parade is on hold, at least for now.
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Spiderland “By Richard Swigg”
It’s about the time where there’s 200 miles left to go that you realise its going to be a long night. 200 miles ‘til either the sun comes up or the voice on the radio changes. But where do you go? Except forward. Forward, in a van, with an obsolete company name scratched off by speed, distance and time. The time is the propeller. No time to say hello. No time to say goodbye. But time to drive. Definitely time to drive.
3.20am, 95.8fm
The eager young science teacher of the 3am to 6am slot informs the insomniac and international audience of what I’ve known was going to happen for a good few hours. Not massive news to anyone, wherever they may be in their beds. The man in the van, already on his way ladies and gentlemen, no need to panic, no need to adjust your frequencies, the man in the van is already on his way. I look out ahead and realise the ticker tape parade is on hold, at least for now.
Read the rest at The Brooklyn Voice
Like this: