The Tyranny of My Roots

New fiction from me, over on Medium. A clip:

The last song I wrote was three years ago, though Bill says that’s not true, that we still collaborate. I tell him not to be a disseminator of nostalgia. I hear ads on the AM station coming out of Pasadena, for a carnival in Palmdale, say, at which Paul Revere and the Raiders are the headliner, and I think, that’s nostalgia, and, maybe it’s the case that people are nostalgic only for things that started out as crap; that good things don’t stand still long enough to turn into nostalgia. But people went to that show, they sat on blankets and ate cotton candy and spaced out occasionally in the direction of the stage. I thought it would be interesting to watch these old guys in tri-corn caps, but it was hideous. Ty and his friend didn’t want to sit with me and ran back and forth before the bandstand while I stayed with the cooler. I asked a retired couple next to me, relaxing amidst a good deal of relaxing equipment, if they could keep an eye on the kids while I went to the Port-o-Johns, and the wife said, “We’d be happy to,” though she gave me a sour smile when I came back the third time. Her husband was drinking beer and I figured he’d wink at me when she looked away, but he stayed looking at the stage, where Paul Revere was flinging fistfuls of flyers that offered $200 off a Caribbean cruise on which the band would play.

Read the whole thing here.