Author: Mel
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if the music had actually died on February 3, 1959 along with Buddy Holly. Would it have melted like a record or become a Technicolor light show like a CD? All we’d hear would be this buzzing sound. The sun would hum with it, just like the streetlights, and it’d never go away; it’d just ring in our ears until they bled out and ours eyes went bloodshot with craziness from it.
It’d be like a zombie-wasteland, devoid of sanity, and completely barren because who the hell would want to harvest crops without music? No one, man; no one.
It’s always when I’m walking out of work, jingling my keys as one foot leaves the curb for a second, and I’m suspended mid-air like I’m in the matrix until time catches up with me and my foot slams against the black pavement of the parking lot. That’s when I hear it. The buzzing, that insufferable buzzing sound that could make a record go wavy and a CD turn into a light show.
When I first heard it, I thought it was an alarm; that’s how annoying it is. But it’s really just the light. ‘Least, that’s what I figure, anyway. It’s just that one lone streetlight in the middle of the tiny parking lot outside my work that buzzes all through the night.
Note: It was short, I know, but since it's the beginning, I didn't want to set a concrete path.
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