A Clean, Well-Lighted Place

Tucked in the fine print of an eviction notice, in the eye of a dope-addled straphanger, a star-crossed lover, or a drunk who's overstayed his welcome at even the most liberal of taverns is “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place.” Running scams for a $3 come-up, actually enjoying the incidental lacing of a first blunt, texting former flames for a bit of reassurance on a rainy day in New Jersey drunk off Blackberry Schnapps or being fed-up with the half-assed everythingness of indy rap artists, it all exists in “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place.” It’s the elongated gaze from a complete stranger on the downtown 4 train and feeling as if you know them internally. The space between the space you have to finally sit down between day jobs and bleed a little bit. Maybe it’s Hemingway’s poetic side and not him sipping a Caipirinha and treating his flavor of the month like shit. Maybe it’s a mix of both. Sometimes to the tell the story you have to use angles only a few will understand and worry about the rest later. Sometimes you have to tune out everything that is happening and find “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place.” Hell, it took me a year to get here… More likely it took all 28, but I got here. I hope you enjoy the view as much as I did. All the best, Prem