Christopher Pratt (cpratt) wrote,
Christopher Pratt
cpratt

Too late

Some time back, in Perth, Australia, I picked up Beck's new CD as a sort-of birthday present for the Marmot. This was September, 2002.

We never listened to it. It was impossible to hear on the crap stereo in the Landcruiser, and it just sounded too dreary at the time.

It got sent home in a box filled with shells and field guides.

Today, I went to lunch with my best friend.

We went to Best Buy, and it felt like we were the only two men in the store, surrounded by people shopping for things they didn't really want.

I saw that Beck album again, and bought it a second time to make sure I'd listen to it.

Later, we had tacos.

Afterwards, he told me he was yearning to move back home.



When I got home, I listened to the album for the first time:

I've seen the end of the day come too soon
Not a lot to say, not a lot to do
You played the game, you owe nothing to yourself
Rest a day, for tomorrow you can't tell
You can't tell


I've been happier.
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