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In a cold, windy city
that is always asleep
and has been for an age,
there is a statue in the park
of the man who was the first to come, most of all
postman to travel to Cuba. Nevermind that they can still dream
his name, it's quite unimportant. in the city that never does
There, is no reason
to rise for its citizens,
no promotions to be earned
through their toilsome
labors. No recognition for
being great, as the greatest
citizen of the town was the postman
who travelled to Cuba
when the city first began
to blossom. Before it withered
away to nothing; the old factory
across the road from the park
was a booming place, filled
with dreams of a growing town.
When the city fell, the dreams
of the working men of the factory
slowly fell into nightmares,
which slowly fell into
a fear of sleep,
which slowly
fell into a
cold insomnia which made them
quite weary for the days
which laid before them, yet well
awake for the nights which began
to never end
once the bar opened
and put them into a state
of constant weariness. As if
they were always sleeping,
they trudged from the bar
to a cold bed, to the factory,
passing by the statue of
the first postman to go
to Cuba. As the workers
became the drunks
became the unemployed
became the homeless
became the dwellers
HIGHBALLS FOR HE. RY
"What makes an apartnit an apart
ment?" I ask the barten , . e's drying
wine glasses for a banquet which he's
about to host in the back room. Cock
tail dresses and suits are filing - in as I
speak. I'm the only one at the bar.
He puts a glass down and picks up
another, too quick forlomething as del
icate. It drops and shatters. "Son of a
bitch!" he yells. That wasn't an answer,
but I go on.
"Is it the size?" I wonder, taking an
other long gulp from my screwdriver.
"No. I have seen apartment after apart
ment, and they're ate different sizes.
Some are really small, g Spanish
maids and there 'children. Oth
ers are much too large for their middle
aged occupant to lie around and drink
martinis all day. Others are just right; a
standing Christmas tree in their living
quarters to be discovered by two young
girls. But, when their mother's had one
too many highballs later that night, she
falls into the tree, garnering a broken
bulb in her shoulder. She laughs it off,
but the kids hear from upstairs, and -"
"What the hell are you taLkin' about,
buddy?" The bartender asks, the bro
ken glass clinking into a garbage bag
from his hand. "You must think I give
a shit." With that, the bartender yanks
an old round shop-vac from under the
bar, plugs it in, and turns it on. It's loud
and cuts the laughter from the ban
quet room. I take another long, citrus
filled gulp, and realize I only have one
remaining in my glass. The vacuum
continues to roar, pulling tiny pieces of
glass from the floor, and I return to may
question.
"Is it who lives there?" A cocktail
dress-clad woman sits at the bar next to
In IC4 Cflitt).ilittPiltr2Aritraf
TIM HUBERT - Junto/
NATHAN CARTER
Showcase Editor•
the warmth of a home,
the embrace of a family,
the refreshment
of a dream of good things
Prayers became desperation
as the hallowed church
across from the bar,
once filled
with songs and warmth,
became a hollow shell
which gave all it could
to clothe the homeless
and give them a place
to rest and have dreams. But
the sleep only brought nightmares,
and the nightmares only brought fear,
and the fear only brought anger, and the
anger only brought hate. And when the hate
had grown to animosity, the empty factory
was burned by a drunk who had just
left the bar after awaking from a
nightmare in the hollowness
of the church's nave, only
to cause the bar, his
only salve from the
suffering world, to
burn like the abandoned
factory, which took away
his grandfather's job
and dignity. And all that
was left after the great
fire was a church
soaked with hatred
and a park
with the statue
of the only man in the city
to ever have a dream
which didn't fade
into an inferno :
the first great
mail-carrier
to ever go
me, and the vacuum stops. Henry, the
bartender, eases up from his knees and
exhales loudly. He smokes too much. I
know this, because his wife has told me
while sitting at this very bar. The cock
tail-dress brunette orders me another
screwdriver. I tfp the one I have in her
direction and finish it. Henry makes the
drink for me, in obvious regret that I'll
be consuming more alcohol before his
annual banquet starts. I ask her, "Have
you ever thought about apartments and
what the hell t119,-luckers really are?"
She's Lilisert abiA 4 limes slightly at
my peculiarity grabs bertieitini, and
walks out of the bar into the banquet
room. Henry looks straight at me with
his arms crossed. "What?" I say. "She
must've had an apartment herself." I
stare back at him for a moment, and
then he shakes his head and walks over
to the ice pail. Apparently it needs fill
ing. God knows the damn
thing never gets cleaned. "Anyways,
apartments can't be determined by who
lives in them. I've seen the poorest of
people maintain houses and the richest
of people living in what could be co*
fused as closets. I've seen crying s
cling to oversized televisions, as fr
faced Repo-Men carry them out
door and down the hall. The mother
either smile and shrug off their spoiled
brat, or yank him from the television
violently while balancing a gin-n -tonic
in their other hand. Junior wasn't go
ing to spoil their chance at an afternoon
roundabout with the handsome one of
the two Repo-Men." I pause for a mo
ment, in serious wonder.
"What is it then? Location? No. If it's
location, then what makes this bar not
my apartment?"
NATASHA DE JESUS
Freshman Communications Major
In the shadows lies a dark secret that I can't find it. Finding it is the key to my
freedom. Freedom that only lies in the hands of one great power that devours my
heart on every single moment. In the silence of fixation. Mis mans atadas para ese
destinado a soltarlas.
And into the shadows I go but no secret. In vain and in sadness I wait, burning for
the love that torn me apart.
Staring at the emptiness of the image in front of me
Ashes...only ashes left. What am I bound to find if there's nothing there to hold me
from burning. He comes to whatever is left of me
There's nothing left of me now...only
(Whispering) - Can you hear it?
-The sound of the water, the wind blowing, the grass shifting
-It's nothing but a moment of pure silence
-Just close your eyes and breathe, in just a few seconds you can hear everything but yet
nothing.
-The roaring sound of the waterfall, the splashing of the fish on the river, the wind blowing
the grass of the prairie lands, the power and energy of the roots under you, the sun striking
through your every pore.
(Whispering) Can you hear it?
(Whispering) - It's called the simplicity of beauty and nature
Henry walks up suddenly and leans
in close to me, "We're not a bed and
breakfast."
I knew this, but I ask, "So is it the bed
that makes the apartment or the break
fast?"
He stands upright again, I take an
other drink, and suddenly, he slams his
bar-cloth down to the floor and carries
the now full ice bucket into the banquet
room with a "Jesus Christ!"
I finish my drink and wonder about
my apartment. There's no heat any
more, and maintenance won't come up
to fix it. I've been at this bar too long
to give my lawyer a call-" Fight. Maybe
I will tomorrow. Maybift ‘llOOll me
what makes an apartment, An-apart
,
ment. Just mayb •
•
SNAMIVIS -
Picks my heart up
‘diispetv'n 3 3
NATASHA DE JESUS
Freohnlan Communication,' clinjor
TEX REX (Highlighter Wall Mural)
TIM DUFFY - Senior Mechanical Engineer
Aiffpt"
BRIANNA VANGELOV - Junior
Spitting up blood unable to breathe
Chest heavy, eyes tired, body cold
fighting to listen to those who call
telling me to hold on as I pass back and forth
The line between consciousness blurred time and time again
Darkness surrounds me
a sweet relief
No more struggling
The tiredness is gone from my body
Numb is what I am as I linger
I want to rest this way forever
Voices murmur in the darkness
Trickling in and disturbing the peace
Light smashes through as the tranquili.ed
Electricity flows through my body
My heart shudders in response
My eyes roll back
Why can't they let me sleep?
Again they send another wave - of electricity through me
Unable to breathe, unafiWio, talk
Limp and weak I w4l6ilently
and stabs it.