And so right in the middle i think of the bowling alley.
The one back home that smells. Smells like a bowling alley smells; stale shoes, old balls, spilt beer. Just nasty. Rotten quarters and sticky carpet. Bordem. Hatred. Loss. Loneliness.
There’s a lonliness in a bowling alley. No windows; dark at 2 p.m. Quiet, except for an occasional rumble. Thundering toward a crescendo. EXPLOSION! Or sometimes… silence.
The sound of a missed opportunity.