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My friend Mike had a little shop in the centre of the city. Mornings his wife would tend the shop while Mike could be seen all around the streets, talking laughing and waving to people. Everyone loves Mike. Back then I thought he was loafing but now I realise he was Networking. Afternoons and early evening Mike would tend the shop.
As the city grew quiet at the end of the day, a bunch of us always congregated at Mike?s shop. Some would sit on stools, some paged through the magazines and some munched on crisps. Despite being vastly different, we all had 2 things in common; we were Mike?s friends and we loved music and the replay thereof. We were Hi-Fi Nuts.
A typical exchange would go something like this; Mike would say; ?So, how about Jadis?? I would spew a lot of audio magazine crap that I had read. M, a Hi-Fi dealer and well-known curmudgeon would growl,? It?s kak.? Mostly he would just leave it at that, sometimes he would, in a single sentence, sum up the flaws in any design and if you are really lucky, tell of an over the top SOTA system he heard with said components. He would then briskly leave the shop, saying over his shoulder to me that I should get a Bryanston. I would helplessly and totally clueless look around ?Huh?? To this R, who hardly ever spoke but whose Sphinx-like presence would be sorely missed if he was not there, would say ?Bryston?. It would be his only word for that day. So the conversation would meander along until everyone would be gone. I would look at my watch and leave too. Not that I had anywhere to go, except a hi-fi and my textbooks.
In retrospect, the 90s were hectic days but for us bunch of misfits, all battling our own little lives, it was just ?well another day. By the mid-90s South Africa had changed and most of us, including Mike, moved on to different and better things.
I love cities at the end of their neurotic, hectic days. When the streets go ghostly quiet and buildings cast long shadows with the sun catching the high windows in flashes of gold, red and orange, when the last stragglers of the day pull their caps over their ears, turn up their lapels and rush to catch the last train or taxi home.
I miss those days of audio and talk about audio and arguing about audio. I recently said so to Mike. To my amazement, he replied that he doesn?t miss them at all. He went on to explain that when we left, he was left alone in the shop and that he never knew if the next person in was going to buy a Coke or rob and kill him. I thought of the ugly grey revolver with the long barrel, always lying on the shelf beneath the cash register, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I hate cities at the end of the day.
As the city grew quiet at the end of the day, a bunch of us always congregated at Mike?s shop. Some would sit on stools, some paged through the magazines and some munched on crisps. Despite being vastly different, we all had 2 things in common; we were Mike?s friends and we loved music and the replay thereof. We were Hi-Fi Nuts.
A typical exchange would go something like this; Mike would say; ?So, how about Jadis?? I would spew a lot of audio magazine crap that I had read. M, a Hi-Fi dealer and well-known curmudgeon would growl,? It?s kak.? Mostly he would just leave it at that, sometimes he would, in a single sentence, sum up the flaws in any design and if you are really lucky, tell of an over the top SOTA system he heard with said components. He would then briskly leave the shop, saying over his shoulder to me that I should get a Bryanston. I would helplessly and totally clueless look around ?Huh?? To this R, who hardly ever spoke but whose Sphinx-like presence would be sorely missed if he was not there, would say ?Bryston?. It would be his only word for that day. So the conversation would meander along until everyone would be gone. I would look at my watch and leave too. Not that I had anywhere to go, except a hi-fi and my textbooks.
In retrospect, the 90s were hectic days but for us bunch of misfits, all battling our own little lives, it was just ?well another day. By the mid-90s South Africa had changed and most of us, including Mike, moved on to different and better things.
I love cities at the end of their neurotic, hectic days. When the streets go ghostly quiet and buildings cast long shadows with the sun catching the high windows in flashes of gold, red and orange, when the last stragglers of the day pull their caps over their ears, turn up their lapels and rush to catch the last train or taxi home.
I miss those days of audio and talk about audio and arguing about audio. I recently said so to Mike. To my amazement, he replied that he doesn?t miss them at all. He went on to explain that when we left, he was left alone in the shop and that he never knew if the next person in was going to buy a Coke or rob and kill him. I thought of the ugly grey revolver with the long barrel, always lying on the shelf beneath the cash register, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I hate cities at the end of the day.
