jeffery druzba is dreamy

Tumbleweed

There was a time when, on any given stretch of road, you would surely find the remnants of a broken cassette tape, clumped together in parts to anchor the wispy tentacles of brown that stretched across the road. You might have seen the thinnest ribbons of brown clung to the tops of the grasses just off the shoulder of road where you walked. You just don’t see that anymore.

I always wondered why there were so many broken cassette tapes on sides of roads. One might think it due to accidental dropping out of windows or frustrated throwing when the tape may have mangled in a dirty car player. I prefer to think that most of those tapes, whether your Def Leppard Hysteria or a favorite mix tape from a former crush, just became incredibly worn and degraded, as cassette tapes are wont to do, from hour upon hour of repeated play and the only respectable way to end their useful lives was to set them free – to let them blow about, wild and drifting, as you felt when they were once captive in your car’s dashboard.

• August 24th, 2004
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