Max Riffner

The Parlor

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The Lips Bring The Memory

Listening to the Flaming Lips (Do You Realize?) when I get a call from Tim, who has been diverted to KC due to the snow in Denver and is going to drive up from there. The memory of us 12 years ago deciding at 7PM to drive to Indiana to visit our friend Tristan hit me suddenly. We drove straight through the night. At 4AM, after chain smoking (it reminds me of the scene in Sin City with Clive Owen and Benicio Del Toro: dark, claustrophobic, and smokey), Tim suddenly stops the car and we get out and lay on the highway near our destination. It feels like flying. Neat trick.

...

We awoke to the sound of one of Tristan’s roommates stomping around the main floor in what sounded like go-go boots. We got up, hungry and filled with regret with the punishment we just put ourselves through. Stumbling out squinty-eyed, we made our way four blocks in the town of Evansville to the Donut Bank, which was in fact a former bank turned bakery that kept all the financial decor.

Only in America…

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