Skip to primary content

Song 18 | Aug 20 2003

As I stepped off the Q train and headed for the stairs, a woman approached me, her mouth in the shape of an about-to-be-asked question. The question was: “How do I get to West 14th?” I told her how to get there, was thanked, and then as I reached the top of the stairs I realized I’d seen something on the platform that hadn’t quite registered. It was a scene in the car I’d been on. Three or more people standing in the aisle. A man’s voice saying, “She’s fainted. Stop the train.” Did these things really happen? I’m still not sure.

The other thing I’ve been thinking about is what music is, or rather, why people make it. Song 18, Dramamine by Modest Mouse, brought this to mind. I don’t have an answer yet, but I think it’s the same reason I stop to look at torn and trampled scraps of paper on the street in the hope that one will mention that the author should not have punched Alex at all and should instead have been doing something on the When You’re Done List, despite how hard it is to stay quiet when everybody else is running around and yelling across the room, for example.