There was this Batman watch , sometime in the nineties, that I wore, black leather band, Batman’s face upon its face, some yellow coloring indicting the moonlight to provide color. I was out with a band, the drummer and I had formed our little connection, this little tribe we were, off on our own. He was tall and thick and had the requisite hair style of the time, straight dirt blonde hair parted in the middle, down to his shoulders. He wore a brown plaid coat that fell to his hips and his jeans were baggy, worn in. His band had gone past the point of travelling in a van but not yet to the level of flying private, and he smoked, Marlboro’s. I smoked for effect then, my attempt were the Benson and Hedges ultra light menthol, trying to squeeze a mint out of a cancer stick I guess. He liked my watch and I gave it to him, as I gave away anything Material anyone admired and I never saw it or him again, after he’d left my apartment to go on to his next gig. I never saw the band play live again and as the nineties turned into the aughts, the band didn’t play on.
Sometimes, these pockets return to me, as I putter around my apartment, memories filling the prison this pandemic has wrought. Time is ahead of me and time is behind me and as I look to settle in, what vibrates are these moments of time, that I had, wistful moments that remain vibrant from so Long ago.