Year Two, Week Eleven: “Gatsby”

Lyrics:

Boston as a city is tightly built, and drops off quickly once you get out of town, into green rolling hills and old New England homes. We were headed to a Summer party at a work friend’s house–not my work. I didn’t know many people, but the drinks were free and there was a piano in the living room, so I was all set, me.

It was getting dark and time to go home when somebody said we should go to another party back in the city, thrown by the brother of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend…I was sure not to know anybody, but it was close to home so I said yes. This kid made it rich, they said, right out of school and built a playhouse in Brookline for all his friends.

Sure enough, it was an old triple-decker in Brookline, gutted into one big ole house, with a bar in the basement, fully stocked and with several beers on tap. There were old arcade games and posters of Resevoir Dogs on the wall. Someone showed us around–not our host–and took us out to the garage, where sat a midnight blue Lamorghini with a Massachusetts vanity plate that just said ‘Gatsby.’

Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
It wasn’t road appropriate
for Boston, I could tell
Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
I don’t think he read it
Or at least not very well

Amongst the din of strangers I found myself behind the bar, where I pulled a bottle of Single Barrel Jack Daniel’s and promptly climbed inside. But our host stayed invisible and distant. Once, on my way to the bathroom, I thought I heard him in his room playing a video game, oblivious to our good time, or maybe just uninterested.

Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
It wasn’t road appropriate
for Boston, I could tell
Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
I don’t think he read it
Or at least not very well

Maybe he was waiting for his Daisy
To cry upon his many colored shirts
But if he reached the end he’d know that’s crazy
That ache you feel is always gonna hurt

Morning came and we went home to tend to ourselves, and not long after I became separated from all those people. But about a year later I was headed to Star Market when there I saw my old friend Gatsby parked outside. Maybe he was working out at the gym next door, or taking a meeting with some Very Important Person. Or maybe he was like me, there to get hot dogs and mac and cheese just like the old days…

…and so we beat on, Italian sports cars against the current, borne ceaselessly back to the past…

Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
It wasn’t road appropriate
for Boston, I could tell
Midnight Lamborghini
The license plate said Gatsby
I don’t think he read it
Or at least not very well

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