Laundromat. She walks in. I look up from my whisky.
(Note: girl in my video should be blonde, petite, farsighted.)
Laundromat. She smiles a little at me, starts loading her clothes. Cut to me, awaiting my laundry (sitting). Cut to her, loading the machine. As she bends, a tattoo on her waist: a tiny anchor. Cut to me, looking ill adjusted to civilian life. Cut to her, frowning at the dials of the washing machine. Cut to me. Cut to her. She puts on her glasses (slo-mo.) She must be farsighted. Cut to me, smiling at my tanned hands but really thinking of memories.
My memories. Younger me in my pickup truck (blue.) Younger me giving my dog a hard time at an outdoor concert on the 4th of July. “” falling in love at first sight with a (younger) blonde. A slipstream of images: younger me in uniform, kissing her goodbye as she cries. Her momma at the door. Blonde giving me one last backward, farsighted glance (slo-mo). Her momma at an upstairs window. Me writing a letter. Her reading a letter with glasses on. Me hitting my drumset so sparks fly off.
Laundromat. She puts in a second load on the other side of the room. Another tattoo: tiny Mason jar. She’s out of detergent. I have none to offer. Our eyes meet. She puts on her glasses. [Crescendo of song.]
Images. Mississippi mud, home videos of me on guitar, sunset, sunrise, sunset, me in camo saluting the flag, other blonde tasting her momma’s gumbo off a spoon (it’s good), children putting flowers in each other’s hair.
Drum solo. A montage of dogs, someone’s mugshot, buddies, bare feet on the dash (of a four-wheel drive), crushed Solo cups, a naked back, a single tear on a cheek.
Laundromat. We leave, my hand on her hip (anchor side). I punch my fist to the air as the last chord rings. A plane landing, young guys drinking beers off a tailgate, sunlight through grass, moss, a barn on fire. Fade to black.