Barry Anders: portrait of a pseudo-cynical, lone ex-rocker on the verge of a life-changing moment
Top-floor apartment suite, downtown Chicago, mailbox 627. This is the home of man, a man who is currently saying goodbye to a woman that he met at a club the previous night. And he's still not sure why she even came home with him in the first place. This sort of thing was becoming more and more common in the man's life - he feels like he needs it. It isn't about sex, well... maybe it is, but it's more about companionship. He is showing his one-night stand the door and she gives him a goodbye kiss. He reluctantly accepts it like a boy who gets the less-expensive G.I. Joe Communism Containment Commando than the one he really wanted. The woman tells him to stop acting like he doesn't trust people because he clearly does, or he wouldn't have let her play with his '91 tour guitar. Barry Anders closes the door behind the woman and walks to his living room. The place is really nice - furniture, lighting, view, the works.
In the economic world, Barry is very well off. The far left wall in the living room contains several gold records and tour posters. Money has been able to buy Barry everything except satisfaction... and those classic Ray Ban aviators that he got from a navy pilot who happened to be his father. It's not like Barry isn't happy, he's just not satisfied. He begins to think carefully about what the woman said to him. It's true, since 1992, he has always tried to give off the vibe that he mistrusts people, although he isn't all that good at it. Ever since the band broke up, for many years, Barry has been trying to move on - he even bought his own club. Barry has friends, they just don't seem to call him that much, or at all. In fact, the only person that calls Barry frequently is Stacy... who is a man. Stacy Sterling is the bassist in the rock trio that no longer exists. Barry admits that he could care less if the third member dropped off the face of the earth. Though when alone, so most of the time, Barry still wonders where that man is.
Barry now finds himself on his small but adequate deck, lighting up a cigarette. All of a sudden, there is a heavenly sound eminating from inside the apartment. Barry hears the phone ringing and runs to it. He is now on the streets of Calcutta, barefoot and dressed in rags, reaching for a loaf of bread, a rolex off the arm of a businessman, spare change, anything. He puts the receiver to his mouth and answers. Someone kindly tosses him a used pair of sandals.
"Hello?" Barry says.
There is a short pause.
"Darell, hmm... I'm not sure I remember you."
There is a long pause.
"Oh wait..."
Barry's life has changed.
Top-floor apartment suite, downtown Chicago, mailbox 627. This is the home of man, a man who is currently saying goodbye to a woman that he met at a club the previous night. And he's still not sure why she even came home with him in the first place. This sort of thing was becoming more and more common in the man's life - he feels like he needs it. It isn't about sex, well... maybe it is, but it's more about companionship. He is showing his one-night stand the door and she gives him a goodbye kiss. He reluctantly accepts it like a boy who gets the less-expensive G.I. Joe Communism Containment Commando than the one he really wanted. The woman tells him to stop acting like he doesn't trust people because he clearly does, or he wouldn't have let her play with his '91 tour guitar. Barry Anders closes the door behind the woman and walks to his living room. The place is really nice - furniture, lighting, view, the works.
In the economic world, Barry is very well off. The far left wall in the living room contains several gold records and tour posters. Money has been able to buy Barry everything except satisfaction... and those classic Ray Ban aviators that he got from a navy pilot who happened to be his father. It's not like Barry isn't happy, he's just not satisfied. He begins to think carefully about what the woman said to him. It's true, since 1992, he has always tried to give off the vibe that he mistrusts people, although he isn't all that good at it. Ever since the band broke up, for many years, Barry has been trying to move on - he even bought his own club. Barry has friends, they just don't seem to call him that much, or at all. In fact, the only person that calls Barry frequently is Stacy... who is a man. Stacy Sterling is the bassist in the rock trio that no longer exists. Barry admits that he could care less if the third member dropped off the face of the earth. Though when alone, so most of the time, Barry still wonders where that man is.
Barry now finds himself on his small but adequate deck, lighting up a cigarette. All of a sudden, there is a heavenly sound eminating from inside the apartment. Barry hears the phone ringing and runs to it. He is now on the streets of Calcutta, barefoot and dressed in rags, reaching for a loaf of bread, a rolex off the arm of a businessman, spare change, anything. He puts the receiver to his mouth and answers. Someone kindly tosses him a used pair of sandals.
"Hello?" Barry says.
There is a short pause.
"Darell, hmm... I'm not sure I remember you."
There is a long pause.
"Oh wait..."
Barry's life has changed.
posted by sean harrison at 1:40 PM
1 Comments:
Nice touch with the way he looks--dejected because he didn't get the toy he wanted. Specifics about furniture to reveal class, sophistication, taste? Like the Ray Ban Aviator glasses--that's good.
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