Newton and the Number Nine
by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.


 

sparkle-hips.gif


Future of the Left - "New Adventures"

Newton runs to catch the number Nine, his shoe coming open at the toe, the wet sidewalk smacking underfoot. When it roars away, with him on it, it looks like he might just be on time for once. He squeezes past obstinate handbags and points meekly to a seat, behind the heavy door of a fat man's knees. He sits hunched and happy in his cloudy window seat, a crossword in his head and one sock damp like stepping untimely on the bathmat.

A phone rings, loudly. Latin Loop. He looks, the fat man is holding it out in front of him, staring at it. He looks confused, perhaps deaf. "You're phone is ringing," Newton points and gives that look of surprise reserved for strangers and babies. The fat man stares back, his clothes smell like unwashed hair, "It's not for me."

A commotion from the front of the number Nine, a stop between stops, and a loud yell of "Get out!" from the driver. A scuffle, obstinate handbags cowering in fear, epithets galore, and that animal kind of fighting that connects us in a dark and unexamined way. The bus has stopped and isn't continuing.

Newtown gets out and is walking along a muddy ditch, much faster than the rest of the bus' patrons. There is still the chance of getting to work on time, if only an hour late. But Newton needs a ride. He squints into the clouds, and acts like a hitchhiker, thumb confidently raised as if saying both "I need a ride" and "you're alright". A mail truck stops, Newton hops in the back.

He rides on the pile of letters like a hard paper bed. Unbagged, unsorted, just a giant pile of cards and envelopes. In the bouncing dullness of his unwindowed ride, Newton begins reading by the glow of his cell phone, the addresses. Perhaps some will be for his office, he could make up for his tardiness by bringing in the mail. They are all addressed to the same place. 4141 Lankashire, and all addressed to the same person: "The Mailman". The truck rumbles to a stop and the door rattles up like the end of a prison term, Newton shields his sensitive eyes. "Aren't you going to open any of these letters?" The mailman, tall with a strident voice, said "They're not for me." A different mailman, thought Newton, perhaps his brother. He bounced out onto the street, "Wait, where are we?" "Lankashire." "But I need to get to Bettingham!" "Oops," and the door rattles shut, the letters to continue their sentence.

Newton, muddy to his knees, his open-toed shoe looking like a mud-eating creature, wanders empty Lankashire streets, hungry and lost. He sees an old hotel, that says "Lunch" in low letters, and goes inside. All the tables are served with food, save one, so he sits down there. A gaunt and tired waiter is also the chef is also the owner. Newton smiles, everyone at least gets a smile, and says, "I'll take whatever's good." The guant tired waiter becomes the chef and puts on some eggs. He looks ready to faint when he serves the salad and tea. "Why don't you join me? There's plenty of food," Newton gestures to the tables, empty of people but with steaming fresh plates. "Mm," humphs the chef, apron-stained, looking over his shoulder at the cloudy Lankashire streets, "It's not for me."

After lunch and a taxi too pricy to mention, Newton arrives at work, six hours late. The third floor is buzzing, not yet winding down, and he comes to his desk to find chaos. Untended articles piled six inches high, riddled with typos like a pair of dead gangsters. His muddy clothes feel both rugged and silly, the caked mud an unusual weight in this carpeted place. He sighs and sits down, wondering how long it has been since Armando has checked, how far could he fudge his lateness? Could he say four hours? could he say three? "Six hours late," Armando's voice from behind, Newton spins sickly around to see. "That's a new record," Armando has a face like a half-sleeping rat; his lids belie his craft. "Do you even like this job, Newton?" Newton's phone starts to ring, Mum n Dad says the screen ID, and Newton looks up at Armando, holding coffee and court, "It probably isn't for me."

[Buy from Xtra Mile]

Posted by Dan at November 29, 2011 2:12 PM
Comments

Awesome visualization between image, song and story.

Posted by Nettie at November 30, 2011 2:30 PM

Post a comment







(Please be patient, it can be slow.)
about said the gramophone
This is a daily sampler of really good songs. All tracks are posted out of love. Please go out and buy the records.

To hear a song in your browser, click the and it will begin playing. All songs are also available to download: just right-click the link and choose 'Save as...'

All songs are removed within a few weeks of posting.

Said the Gramophone launched in March 2003, and added songs in November of that year. It was one of the world's first mp3blogs.

If you would like to say hello, find out our mailing addresses or invite us to shows, please get in touch:
Montreal, Canada: Sean
Toronto, Canada: Emma
Montreal, Canada: Jeff
Montreal, Canada: Mitz

Please don't send us emails with tons of huge attachments; if emailing a bunch of mp3s etc, send us a link to download them. We are not interested in streaming widgets like soundcloud: Said the Gramophone posts are always accompanied by MP3s.

If you are the copyright holder of any song posted here, please contact us if you would like the song taken down early. Please do not direct link to any of these tracks. Please love and wonder.

"And I shall watch the ferry-boats / and they'll get high on a bluer ocean / against tomorrow's sky / and I will never grow so old again."
about the authors
Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

Emma Healey writes poems and essays in Toronto. She joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. This is her website and email her here.

Jeff Miller is a Montreal-based writer and zinemaker. He is the author of Ghost Pine: All Stories True and a bunch of other stories. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Say hello on Twitter or email.

Mitz Takahashi is originally from Osaka, Japan who now lives and works as a furniture designer/maker in Montreal. English is not his first language so please forgive his glamour grammar mistakes. He is trying. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Reach him by email here.

Site design and header typography by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet. The header graphic is randomized: this one is by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet.
PAST AUTHORS
Dan Beirne wrote regularly for Said the Gramophone from August 2004 to December 2014. He is an actor and writer living in Toronto. Any claim he makes about his life on here is probably untrue. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.

Jordan Himelfarb wrote for Said the Gramophone from November 2004 to March 2012. He lives in Toronto. He is an opinion editor at the Toronto Star. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.
our patrons
Said the Gramophone does not take advertising. We are supported by the incredible generosity of our readers. These were our donors in 2013.
watch StG's wonderful video contest winners
search


Archives
elsewhere
our favourite blogs
(◊ means they write about music)

Back to the World
La Blogothèque
Weird Canada
Destination: Out
Endless Banquet
A Grammar (Nitsuh Abebe)
Ill Doctrine
A London Salmagundi
Dau.pe
Words and Music
Petites planétes
Gorilla vs Bear
Herohill
Silent Shout
Clouds of Evil
The Dolby Apposition
Awesome Tapes from Africa
Molars
Daytrotter
Matana Roberts
Pitchfork Reviews Reviews
i like you [podcast]
Musicophilia
Anagramatron
Nicola Meighan
Fluxblog
radiolab [podcast]
CKUT Music
plethoric pundrigrions
Wattled Smoky Honeyeater
The Clear-Minded Creative
Torture Garden
LPWTF?
Passion of the Weiss
Juan and Only
Horses Think
White Hotel
Then Play Long (Marcello Carlin)
Uno Moralez
Coming Up For Air (Matt Forsythe)
ftrain
my love for you is a stampede of horses
It's Nice That
Marathonpacks
Song, by Toad
In Focus
AMASS BLOG
Inventory
Waxy
WTF [podcast]
Masalacism
The Rest is Noise (Alex Ross)
Goldkicks
My Daguerreotype Boyfriend
The Hood Internet

things we like in Montreal
eat:
st-viateur bagel
café olimpico
Euro-Deli Batory
le pick up
lawrence
kem coba
le couteau
au pied de cochon
mamie clafoutis
tourtière australienne
chez boris
ripples
alati caserta
vices & versa
+ paltoquet, cocoa locale, idée fixe, patati patata, the sparrow, pho tay ho, qin hua dumplings, caffé italia, hung phat banh mi, caffé san simeon, meu-meu, pho lien, romodos, patisserie guillaume, patisserie rhubarbe, kazu, lallouz, maison du nord, cuisine szechuan &c

shop:
phonopolis
drawn + quarterly
+ bottines &c

shows:
casa + sala + the hotel
blue skies turn black
montreal improv theatre
passovah productions
le cagibi
cinema du parc
pop pmontreal
yoga teacher Thea Metcalfe


(maga)zines
Cult Montreal
The Believer
The Morning News
McSweeney's
State
The Skinny

community
ILX