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S. Maharba – S. Maharba

“I can’t believe that window was opened.”

“I can’t believe your mom is opened.”

“That doesn’t really even make sense, ass.”

“Just keep quiet, and come on.”

The two made their way deeper into the darkness. Metallic shapes, gnarled, and mangled mechanical masses were spread out across the floor. The silhouettes of abandoned machinery only slightly darker than the oily darkness that enveloped the room. They pressed on, slinking through tight hallways, deftly maneuvering around piles of loose paper, stacks of carpet, past enormous faded numbers once used to delineate specific rooms. 32, 33, 34, the font clinical, red, outlined in black.

“What was this place?”

“I don’t know, dude, but it’s massive.”

“Your mom’s massive.”

“Nice.”

Joey entered the cavernous room first and stood a moment as his eyes adjusted. He let the strap of his bag slide over his shoulder and he caught it in the crook of his arm, gently lowering it to the floor, the bearings inside 26 cans of spray paint rattling like God’s craps table.

Shane popped the cap off a Canyon Black satin finish, shook it vigorously, flipped the can upside down and began releasing the pressure. After a few moments, he climbed a tall pile of carpet stacked against a wall. The can hissed out the letters “S-L-E-E-Z,” the new hand-style meticulously crafted beforehand in several black-covered sketchbooks.

The two made their way around the massive space, jumping across gaps in the stacked carpet that seemed to spread out endlessly, the fumes from the spurting cans beginning to make them feel a bit silly and brazen. Before long, the subjects of their paintings turned from graffiti monikers to crudely rendered penises. They were laughing so violently they barely saw the owl.

It slid silently through the space, cutting away a path through the great overwhelming darkness of the place. Its snowy shape was pinned hard against the black backdrop as it propelled itself at a great speed that seemed somehow in slow motion. It never flapped its wings.

The two stood, chins up, transfixed by the great bird’s eyes. It looked only at them.

They watched it until it was swallowed by darkness. A great, encompassing darkness that was dwarfed suddenly by a great encompassing silence. A silence larger and older than them. Larger and older than their parents. Larger and older than the building.

“It’s time to go home,” Joey said, still staring at the hole in the dark where the owl had disappeared.

“Yep.”

Listen: S. Maharba – Heels

Posted by: Jamie

Category: Music

6 Dec, 2010

Category: Music

Tagged: , , , , ,

2 Responses

  1. Marissa says:

    She sounds like Halloween. It’s music that’s dead sexy in its mystery.

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