September 23, 2002:
Pretty girl in the farmers' market. Mid-20s, bobbed faded-blond hair, shiny skin. Wild-looking green eyes with fear or pain at the center. I smile but she refuses eye contact.
Victor's
lyric in
"Radio Tower":
"You got a sweet smile
and you got sad glassy eyes
they look so crazy at the center
that's what I look for."
Birthday, Ocean Beach Pier, San Diego. Two girls, blond, one thin, one more round. Sisters. Lovely. Vibrant with life and sunlight, especially the leader, whose vivid gray eyes sparkle with laughter. She laughs often, throwing her head back, letting her happiness fly toward heaven. Laughing, she pulls her sister toward her and they clinch in a tight hug. Click! There's a tall boy taking pictures. Now their joyfulness will live forever.
Birthday, train station, Madison Wisconsin. Exhausted-looking blond girl sits with knees up on a hard wooden bench. Gray eyes lined with sharp black mascara, staring, haunted, from gold-rimmed glasses. Click-flash: her sleepy girlfriend takes her picture. Now her lost, lonely stare will live forever.
Birthday, interior of an apartment in the Tenderloin, San Francisco. Candles on an uncut cake. Empty alcohol bottles. Empty-looking woman with messy blond hair offers her sister one of her Prozac tabs. "I like the way they make me feel," she says. Her glassy gray eyes do not sparkle. She laughs but it sounds hollow in this place. No-one takes a picture.
So often he seems to be singing about me.