The Busiest Empty Space
It was sheer sensual blight. Up to this point, it was something literally unimaginable for Sam.
There were blinking, spinning, and undulating lights, there were screens showing all manner of everything, there was music pouring from everywhere and everything. It was lousy with a frenetic vibe that would overdose even the most Zen humanoid. It definitely warranted a warning label about flashing lights and seizures.
Without proper guidance, the space alone could scrambled the brains of the uninitiated. One did not just dive into the world’s most meticulously cluttered basement, one dipped a toe, then a shin, then a kneecap, and so on until full immersion was advisable. One didn’t just march down the stairs. Like frogs in pots of boiling water, one had to condition oneself to the intensity.
There was nary a spot or nook or cranny that didn’t illicit some sensual reaction. “Taking in all in” was out of the question. The 900 (or so) square feet took months to properly absorb.
As she stood at the landing of the raw wooden staircase adorned with rainbow landing pads obviously purchased from the local big box hardware emporium, she marveled at what hinted from the periphery. But, she was transfixed by that stared back at her from dead ahead—a neon guitar clock in the shape of Fender Stratocaster with a functionl second hand that was ticking away the seconds of her life.
And this was just the hors devours. She dared not peek around either corner for fear of being overwhelmed by the visual buffet. From her vantage point, Jaye’s basement was a psychedelic, schizophrenic, bonkers Smithsonian rock ‘n’ roll salon the likes of which she’d never imagined.
Excerpt from All or Nothing Girl (part 3), the forthcoming novel from Blake Charles Donley