The radio sang out a cure song, the volume was so low that you couldn't make out Robert Smith's words, only his sad melancholy. Sitting cramped next to various pots and pans, crates with donated clothes, and other miscellaneous items the ride back from the Kingston Inn to New Paltz was a long ardous twenty minutes. We were coming back from our weekly charity trip. Food Not Bombs went to the Kingston Inn every week on fridays to serve bland food to poor people in section 8 housing.
Greg was in the front seat driving us in his parent's four door something or other and Kristine was sitting next to him looking out the window. Greg started talking about how he first met Robert Smith. It was in 2000 when Greg had just transferred to SUNY New Paltz where we all met and went to school. Robert Smith was doing an album signing in the city for Bloodflowers, the first album out by The Cure since Wild Mood Swing in 1996. Greg stood in line at some record store, maybe it was tower records, for over 4 hours. The woman in front of him started to cry when she got in front of Robert Smith. She was overcome with emotion as she saw Smith in his hockey shirt, his eyeliner, and his black poof of hair. Her record was signed and she moved on. Greg started to bawl as well, not because he was particularly sad but because the woman in front of him was crying, and that made him cry as well.
I didn't cry when I heard that story, but in retrospect maybe I should have.
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