New wave daysSHE ENTERS THE CIGARETTE BAR, PARTING THE CROWD, AND MY FIRST thought is, haven’t I seen her before, somewhere? She takes a seat at a corner table. A waiter whisks away her reservation card, opens a glass cabinet and plucks a pack from a stack of Marlboros. Her name is on a brass plate on the shelf. She doesn’t speak, and doesn’t appear to be waiting for someone. She is dressed in a silver top and pants.
The music at the bar is strictly New Wave. A Flock of Seagulls is playing “Wishing.” The walls flash videos of the Cure, Kraftwerk, New Order, other bands I don’t know or can’t remember from stories from my father. It’s after hours. The bar is packed shoulder to shoulder. The ionizers are working overtime to clear the smoke.
Why does she make such an impression on me? Let us
