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Blindfolded, in the dark. I disassemble and reassemble over and over again. Vague smell almost like cordite. Clean. Oil. Hours of practice to make this perfect. Each piece known perfectly by touch and memory. Finally I rack it and take a look. This machine is my life. This machine kills fascists. Sony TC-K717ES Compact Cassette deck. A slice of moonlight through the basement window lights my face, and not one mote of dust is suspended in the beam. I hit play. |
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Apr 30, 2017 20:15
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| # ¿ May 2, 2024 06:21 |
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