BOSTON/NE BANDS, Fresh Stream, Music

Marine Layer – Bright Passage

Just a walk in the park, they said. Don't worry, they said.


[The Yolk]

I decided to take a walk through the park
downtown and get some air. The smell struck
me first. The pool of standing water by
the entrance bred some kind of fun-
gus. Nothing normal. An iridescent pink fi-
lm covered all the rocks; dead fish floated
sadly in the light waves rippling acro-
ss the surface of green waters.

On the other side of the gate, by a trash-
can filled to the brim with bags o-
f dogshit, a young girl on a scooter falls
on the path and skins her knees. Her pa-
rents, about 50 yards up the hill, run in
my direction. I see, up in the pine trees
to my left, a group of teenage stoners la-
ughing hysterically at the accident. They
hold up phones, and appear to be recordin-
g everything. One notices me, and raises a
middle finger. I move on.

I change course to avoid the screaming
parents barreling down the hill towards
the girl. They miscalculate, or somethi-
ng, and trip over the girl. The father br-
eaks his arm in the most fucked up way. I
can hear the bones snap and have to look

I pass across a quaint bridge, spray pain-
ted with “ketamine plug” and an arrow poi-
nting to nearby bushes. Carved swastikas and
birdshit cover its wooden rails. The green,
soapy waters rushing underneath toss up
mist that gets in my lungs and my
eyes. I feel lightheaded. Everything burns.
My skin feels like it is being pricked by
a million white hot needles. The sky appe-
ars to be orange with purple clouds. A b-
lue sun circles vibrantly overhead. The
bridge elongates and pulses in confusing

When I make it back onto the path I am g-
reeted by a hilarious sight. Two of the
ugliest, small and vicious dogs fight o-
ne another. Their eyes are horrific. Bul-
ging and mad. Behind them, running in ci-
rcles, some genetic monstrosity harveste-
d from an abusive, nearly bankrupt, chai-
n pet shop at the mall drools and strugg-
les to stand up on all of its three legs.
I approach it slowly. Its owner notices
me, clutches her purse, with pure fear in he-
r eyes. The dog “barks” at me. Tongue wag-
ging dumbly from the side of its mouth.
The fear in the owner’s eyes as they loo-
k at me is unimaginable. I smile and ru-
n away.

I keep running until I can’t hear the b-
arking anymore. I’ve wandered off the p-
ath and ended up in a grove. I look aroun-
d. I don’t remember why I kept running. I
am calm suddenly. The green surroundings
envelope me all at once, and I can hear
birds and electric insect humming. The
breeze is cool, and there is a light mi-
st/fog rolling through the large trees.
I hear a voice, out of nowhere: “Hey.”

I turn quickly in the direction of the v-
oice. There is a statue I hadn’t noticed
before. When I look at its head, the eyes
twitch, and mouth opens. “Jesus.” It ste-
ps off its pedestal and walks in my dire-
ction. “Hey, man, got a smoke?” I have a
few, but they have to last. I tell the s-
tatue I don’t have any to spare. I begin
walking toward a clearing that leads back
to the path. “Ah, damn. How about a doll-
ar? I need to buy a train ticket.” I say
no, again. It sighs. “God…” It chuckle-
s. “… I could really use a blowjob.” I-
t looks at me from the corner of its eye.
I shiver.

It’s really weird to get hit up by a stat-
ue. I keep walking. I got nothing. I get
back to the path, the statue has now att-
ached itself to me, and it tells some sob
story about being a boxer a long time ago.
Swears a lot. I feel uncomfortable. Even-
tually, we get to the fountain. It’s a big
tit mermaid with water shooting out of h-
er nipples. A used condom draped over h-
er shoulder. It looks like she has a bla-
ck eye. The jabbering statue is suddenly
very quiet and seems aroused. There
is much heavy breathing and lip smacki-
ng. It tells me it has to go. I see it p-
ull a statue sized syringe out of its co-
at pocket, and the green copper eyes of
the mermaid perk right up.

I make it to the gate out of the park, an-
d I’m hit with a wave of fermenting piss
smell. A greasy piece of shit with a put-
on accent screams, “OY-STAHS! CALA-MAH-R-
I!” The man absolutely screams these thi-
ngs, “$10 DOLLAHS! TEN!” When he says 10
it must be the loudest sound the human b-
ody is capable of producing. It is so un-
necessary and only contributes to whate-
ver is now going on in my head.

I imagine a giant insect. Horrific. Horr-
ific. It has those legs that you hate, a-
nd giant insect eyes. It’s buzzing and m-
aking these deadly noises. And it is twi-
ce my size. Holy shit. Look at that fuck-
ing thing. Then I recognize the building-
s. It’s in the street now. It is eating
people. Screams. Chaos. Without realizin-
g it, I am running back into the park. T-
he statue and mermaid walk past me, in a
daze. Mumbling to themselves. I hear som-
ething about a calamari dinner and a bl-

I see a lone goose in the water a few ya-
rds away. The insect is hot on my trail.
It’s one of those weird dream things whe-
re the more I try to run, the slower I ge-
t. I feel so uncomfortable as I dive int-
o the water. I intend to put the goose o-
n my head and wait this out, observing t-
he chaos. No such luck. It appears someo-
ne else already had this bright idea. Th-
ey karate chop me in a weird place on my
neck. I pass out.

I fall to the bottom of the pond into a b-
ed of that weird pink slime. Even though
I am out cold, I remember the most fantas-
tic bright colors. The doctors say it’s a
miracle I’m still alive. I was dead for a-
t least 20 minutes. My Mom says I might h-
ave brain damage, but I don’t believe her.

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