nearly 10 years ago a teenage boy anxiously walked towards the glass cube down at the waterfront. wandering through the rooms history shone down on him, the instruments, the records – it all was there, right in front of him. hours had passed and when he sat down on the floor next to the large windows, the sunrays broke through the clouds and filled the room with light. there were the words “she stares off alone into the night with the eyes of one who hates for just being born – for all the shut down strangers and hot rod angels, rumbling through this promised land.” the song was on repeat. an hour must have passed until he stood up. it took him a decade to understand that it was a perfect moment, back there in cleveland, ohio. the boy was me.
i believe.