Walter Sickert & The Army of Broken Toys Music Video Part 2

The Hubbardston, MA police officer
is younger than I am.
More nervous too.
Before he comes up to the car,
I have a wild impulse to just gun it.
You know-- car chase stuff.
All those dreams of persecution &
rooftop shoot-outs & the night time run...
gilding the rash blood.
But I fight it, name it...
for it is nothing more than my
self-destructive tendencies.

The cruiser was going the other way
when I passed
going my way
48 mph in a 30mph twisting back-road.
I see the spotlight extend out the driver's window,
an extra finger pointing "STOP".
I do a start--stop-- then truly stop--
it is very dark on New Westminster Street
as I wait amidst the packings,
the Spider Dolly tracks poised like a tank cannon
jammed length-wise from back to dashboard.
I wait & wait,
the minutes ticking by.
Betty Ann & her husband somewhere ahead.
I get my hand thru the tackle-block of equipment
on the passenger seat.
Get the glove compartment open,
retrieve the registration.
When the officer does suddenly appear beside my window,
I shakily hand him the proper paperwork.
His voice is awkward,
when he informs me why he pulled me over...
he's like an actor learning his lines.
Have I been pulled over before for speeding?
No, this is a first.
(Only seconds later do I remember a Sunday morning
years back in Brighton...
getting pulled over for not stopping @ an intersection.
Albeit a case I fought in traffic court & won.
But...)
Anyway he says some more things.
I nod & nod
then wait some more
as he returns to vehicle.
He marks his final return w/ a written warning,
which will thankfully not affect my insurance rates.
But enough of 'em-- look out!
I signal & pull out &
that is my adventure w/ the law.

I am 20 mins late
when I pull up to the barn.
I repeal some of my late points
by producing a flashlight.
Betty Ann & her husband had forgotten to bring one.
Betty Ann & her husband are perfectly matched.
I can see them as owners of a used bookstore...
spectacles, a little eager to fill the space w/ chat...
a laugh here & there.
They remind me of myself, actually.
I'm given keys to barn & adjunct lounge.
The latter building is essential
for it contains bathrooms, kitchen for food storage, etc.
But even at this late hour,
there is an uncertainty about our access to it.
For weeks now I've been told by both Edrie &
Betty Ann
that a birthday party has the place reserved
BUT--
they may cancel.
they may allow us partial access.
they may allow us no access.
Tonight Betty Ann makes a bold decision
following another unanswered voicemail w/ the party people...
we have partial access.
Hooray!

The lounge is nice & quaint...
jollier on the inside of its stone-work fascade.
There's a microwave, oven, TVs, stereo, etc.
A perfect hideout for a Dick Tracy villain on the run...
the only things missing are steaks & cigars.
I'm shown the punch-in code,
given some warnings about the basement space.
And with that...Betty Ann & her husband are off.

I unload in bleakness.
No streetlights this far down.
I lug equipment into the big drafty barn
gagging on the flashlight in my mouth...
my one beam of bravery.
The roof makes goblin sounds depending on where you step
like someone slamming the palm of their hand
against the wood above.
An angry "hey, you!" sound
straight out of exorcisms & rainy day seances.
No bats, though.
Thank-- goodness.
I built my fortress of alignment & perfection,
the c-stands side-by-side on the wood slat floor.
I move into one of the stable rooms,
the one w/ the (3) AC outlets.
When Stu & I scouted some weeks back
I pegged this for craft services.
I sweep bat guano in the dark.
I move twin fold-up chairs,
artifacts from some haunted Baptist church.
The head of the sweep broom keeps popping off,
like a sloppy decapitation.
There's a sound then-- a voice
I could swear the transcription is "gooble-gooble".
"Hello?" I inquire.
I think it's kids just driving by.

The barn is getting to me.
I sing folk melodies to myself
& pop ditties.
All to ward off the cold & isolation.
The prop person in running late
(traffic and...supper?)
I am alone when I ascend the tier to the fuse box.
I cell phone K for company but of course it's no answer...
never on the weekends, it seems.
I try & get Stu & that helps.
Yup, I'm a Shaggy chicken but talking fuse box tech
w/ Stu on the line helps distract me
from the sway of sounds up here.
I crunch-step across glass
& flick switches.
Nothing.
I am lost in the blackness.
Something moves.

TO BE CONTINUED