Another Suburban Romance
Alan MooreAnother Suburban Romance Gönderileri
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Down here the murders don’t have motives, down here the passions don’t have names, and all of those fire-trap tenements, they stand around like Catholic martyrs: They’re just waiting for the flames. Outside the boys are carving eastherhouse sunsets on each other in the park, and there’s schoolgirls get lost in the heat-haze, break down in reeking subways, like a church of broken hearts and police fever cuts through the streets like a knife, and once you step outside, you’re outside for the rest of your life. (…) There’s love in the tall steel where the men don’t ask questions and the girls have dirty hair, they come silently, clasped in a doorway, vanish along empty highways, on a street-car named despair. And the lights never change and you can’t see the signs, and once they’ve got your name, pal, it’s just a matter of time.
Old gangsters never die, except for the few that fall asleep in cinemas at midnight. Lay there sprawling in the footlights for the usherette or the ice cream girl to find. And if I die, God knows I might, don’t let me die in black and white, don’t make me share a haunted screen with every other ghost boy who stood trembling in the foyer drinking
