Jackson says he was “something” back then and likes to claim those were the better times in our world history. He walked tall in the streets of Chicago. Men walked wide around him and women hung on his shoulders like worn out suspenders. He never loved any of them but enjoyed their sagging comfort and usefulness (the women and the suspenders!). He says he was happy back then, but now complains about things of little consequence. He wonders, did he just get old? Is it just that simple? Did he lose this audience? Or did he ever have one at all? He wonders if he dreamed it now. Yet, a saxophone still stands in the corner of the back bedroom.
From my series: Now Playing
Buy from Gallery: Feminine Mystique Art Gallery, Tubac AZ