The Guy Working the Door at House of Blues


10pm
I walk down Lansdowne in Boston
I see a familiar man sitting on a stool outside the venue
He's about sixty
Wearing sunglasses at night
And a bandana

He used to work the door at Club Axis
But Axis got sold
Torn down 
And up came the House of Blues

They must have felt sorry for him
And hired him at House of Blues
But he's out of place
A relic from a lost era
A time when clubs were about the bands
And not about the money

He's a dedicated indie rocker working at a franchise
A dinosaur in the wrong world
One of the lone survivors of the cataclysmic meteor event
He’s smiling and joking
But his overall demeanor exudes sadness
Like he's clinging to the lost world
Pretending it's still alive

But it's hopeless
His world is basically extinct
And, by the looks of it, he'll soon be extinct, too

 


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