Dennis O'Toole
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A Cell Without Bars (Get it?)

6/4/2015

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PictureSonar and me in Memphis, 2013.
On Sunday, February 24, 2013, my friend Sonari and I sat in a bar outside Dallas, Texas, each staring at a phone and barely speaking to the other. The specificity sounds portentous but it was just a random Sunday, easy to look up because it was that year's Oscars night. A decent crowd had shown up to watch the ceremony. We neither paid attention to the TVs nor, as I said, to each other. We'd just driven 450 miles from Memphis with a long mid-day stop in Little Rock. Google Maps says the drive takes about six and a half hours, but I recall it taking three times that.  It was a fine time, not complaining, but it was 10:00 at night and we had not had dinner yet. I recall feeling completely exhausted. 



Day started with 8:00 mass because we are solid Catholics both, true to The Game and all that. The priest had an interactive homily about the baggage we carry and asked members of the congregation to hold onto some clothes of his he would not be taking on his vacation in Rome. He walked from pew to pew handing stuff out. I can't remember the point-- divesting oneself of the unnecessary?-- but it was lively and nice. We stopped outside Graceland, but did not go inside to genuflect. We stopped in Little Rock to have lunch, walk along the river, and visit--our third temple of the day-- the extraordinarily horrible Clinton Library. Just awful. The rest of the day was spent driving. So was the previous--Chicago to Memphis. There we had ribs and checked out Beale Street and went to bed late. After Dallas we'd drive to Austin, pick up our friend Anton, spend the night there, and drive to San Antonio in the morning. After a brief cameo at the Alamo, I'd split for Chicago via jet airplane and Anton would accompany Sonari the rest of the way to Los Angeles via electric car. Anton and I were just there to hang, someone to talk with and at on the long drive across the continent. Analog company in a digital time.

So here we were, two garrulous friends, totally spent, checking emails, headlines, weather, whatever--everything but each other. I looked around and noticed that the bar was full of people talking to each other as they watched the Oscars. No one was on a phone but the two of us.

"Sonari, we're being those people."

"What people?" he asked without looking up.


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    About Dennis

    Dennis O'Toole is an all-set cobra jet creepin' through the nighttime.  He lives in Chicago. 

    If you need to reach me, dial:
    denotoole AT SYMBOL gmail DOT co LETTER M.  

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