Nothing Happened in Birmingham / Hyperstimulation

Nothing Happened in Birmingham

I almost just want to leave that title alone as the whole text of this vignette.  The drive from Roanoke was smooth and efficient.  I stayed in a Ramada Inn.  I tried to go out on the town, but only found a place to have a dinner consisting of appetizers (buffalo chicken tenders as I recall) and a beer or two.  Then went back to the hotel and went to sleep.  The next morning I woke up and went into the lobby to use the computer that had internet, and I booked the Crowne Plaza Hotel in New Orleans for that night.  The room rate was only $99, so I figured why not live it up for once.  It would not be too long of a drive, and I got an early start. 

               

Hyperstimulation

                A beautiful scene involving Ashleigh—one of those few times when a dream is able to lift the dreamer out of their despicable daily existence and into a heavenly construct.  There were many other parts—like purchasing weed from Sam (a different one, who no longer deals in that trade) to share with Aaron (who was always underfunded throughout college and who never bought weed and who I smoked up dozens upon dozens of times—always happily as he was one of the best people to get stoned with), who split the cost 50/50 this time.  But in particular, the scene with Ashleigh, who only appeared once or twice in a rare, brilliant flash, but who provided the epiphany of the experience.  She had constructed an artwork outside of the record store Other Music in New York, except in this case Other Music had been transferred to an alley across the street from the Reckless Records in the Lakeview location in Chicago.  She had constructed an artwork that appeared to be a cryptogram, but one that I could read because it had my name spelled out in various letters across it, which provided some sort of key to solving the puzzle, unlocking the mystery.  She disappeared as quickly as she floated through the atmosphere, and as I looked up at the piece, deciphering its message, two boys walked past me, exiting the alley and heading to the record store.  They told me that Ashleigh was hyperstimulated, and not necessarily interested in me physically.  Though this message may sound like something of a letdown, it gave me great comfort.  It also gave me great comfort to see that she had designed an artwork clearly directed at me.