The City was nothing but tourist and the so called regulars, searching for something
In the distance to make there’s.
Just like California had the Hollywood Sign.
The Hudson River was his reminder, the Essence that was his focal point.
His reminder, that things hadn’t been quite the same for awhile.
The shops, were different using propaganda as their own weapons
Hadn’t it only been 10 years earlier that the “ man” was the enemy of choice?
Or was he mistaken, had it been longer? Calendars seemed to be completely out of print.
The government always watching you, those hippies whose brain cells were less than par,
from the decade before last.
Funny how a complete exaggeration cause by paranoia, had now become some sick reality.
But to say he was at all different than the rest, would just be a foolish lie.
He still kept all of his old records, and old notebooks, and other belongings in a closet.
The closet was completely out of view of everything, and every person and machine.
Were they the same thing? Matthew didn’t even know anymore.
Nights when he knew no one would bother him he would wear his old shirt he got after Woodstock.
The Shirt that Bob Dylan signed then seconds later spilled his drink on.
When watching him, he wonder what they will say about him still living 2 decades in the past
Yet even Dylan knew better to leave this place before things got this bad.
These days he spent inside his head never finding a reason to leave, letting the nostalgia fill the air.
He painted to remember, he remembered to keep the holes full of truth, not lies.
Most days he couldn’t tell the truth from the lies, made to distract the regulars from what was really going on.
As he sat starring out s the river, memories started to haunt him
It was the Summer of 1969, he was 19. He traveled far just to find the open field, where the concert would be held.
It was just supposed to be a festival, no one would have thought it would become historic.
Walking past groups, and groups, so many people, he smiles and greeted them all as if it was required.
The legends that took that stage for the next three days, never realizing for some it would one of the last.
The air was filled with hopes, dreams, and grass, a man with hair longer than his handed him a bottle, he took it gratefully, thanked the man and kept walking.
He stopped when he saw her brown hair flowing in the wind, skirt following her like flies, blue eyes starring into his own. She smiled and came his way.
They would talk for hours with the live music becoming the soundtrack.
He shook his head from the memories, maybe one day, maybe one day
He would find her.