19 May 2010. Yesterday's day, morning in May. Neighbor's car pulling carefully over to bumpy curb for short talk with city tree guy--his Southern accent...
And a sketch from the Soviet past. The line of heavy-fendered motorcyles, each with metal stand welded to side-car mount, on which, high above, two young women take a striding pose--sotsialisticheskaya rabota--each with one arm forward to grip banner staff. (A metaphor of the times--the staff itself being being welded in place, so that rather than carry the flag, they hold onto it for support...)
No true knowing. Like the Ed Sullivan show, which Dad would watch on Sunday night--a line of Chinese acrobats with spinning plates, or the magician with long-toothed saw--inky voice of a yet-unknown crooner, or the five appealing youngsters in modest afros and platform shoes...
High metallic sound-stage curtain, narrow wires, fame...
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