Kiss Me Ghislaine

It was a dark back street where I had been hoping to stumble into a dark back street.

I had left the glare of Broadway, where none of the great stuff was still to be found.

The musical Cats was playing, inspired by a poem written by T.S. Elliot, after he’d gone doddering enough to abandon the misery, and truth, of The Waste Land.

A lot of people grouped into the line wherein led into the Broadway Theater. A light rain felleth on them, a mist. A dark mist, a gloaming.

They had to buy tickets. This was part of the “experience”, the way they would play, in a fadeaway, as Bored Way was displaced by Hollywood.

Shaarrroooom!