When I think of the heyday of incarceration in New York, I immediately think of a lot of photos. Pages printed to announce the temporary closure were randomly attached to the shop window and remained firm and scattered after several weeks. LinkNYC’s illuminated kiosks at the corners of every street will display miserable messages reminding you to keep your distance from strangers.
The completely empty Brooklyn Bridge, which shines after the rain, will run through the counties. (It always rained, and it seemed to be quite steep later on.) But there was only one sound: the 1999 Faith Hill classic country musical “Breathe” running down the aisle of the grocery store.
In most cases, I associate March and April last year with silence – people generally feel that the world is at rest and no one knows what will happen next. It’s like watching a scene go off the rails, pulling the curtain down, leaving the audience in awe and quietly waiting for what is to happen. There is one exception to this rule, however. This is not an empty apartment building, many residents have left for unknown destinations, or it is not a dry street, you can walk through the building without seeing other people, but a grocery store.
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Many people described the trauma of meeting other people again on their first adventure after the lockdown started. The strangest thing for me is listening to music again. After a few days of silence, I went shopping for the first time and did some groceries, and when I sat in a spacious indoor area with other people and listened to music through the sound system, I was surprised. Almost certainly because of the previous imperfection, I quickly decided that this was the best music I’ve heard in my life.
It turns out he’s not alone. More than just music plays in the supermarket. This is a very special genre called “grocery music,” and it is easy to hear the sound of canned food reverberating through a complex acoustic process and echoing the frozen product portion, so the hot water bath provides an eternal, chaotic neutral quality. This is the original soundtrack from a long childhood with your parents, waiting endlessly while trying to meet the actors. (It’s similar to pharmacy music, but the latter is more of a threat.) For a thorough introduction to the genre, I recommend using Spotify’s “Grocery Store Story Music Playlist.”
Rediscover ‘breaths’ on Faith Hill at the 4th Main Street Food Court in the East Village. Shortly thereafter, he was just yards away in the meat department, looking at a tray of chicken breast, and faced an existential crisis over Vanessa Williams’ “Save the Best for Last.” At various times I walked through the spaghetti tunnel to dance to Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams”, thanks to the lyrics of Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On,” and it filled my eyes with tears.
The joyful experience of a romantic relationship with music in public quickly led me to volunteer to the grocery store when the store’s items were missing. These trips filled an emotional void unavailable since the closing of bars and nightclubs, and I can’t escape them. Speaking of “supermarkets turning into the new club in 2020,” when these places too are widespread panic, hoarding, conflicts with security measures and the incredible courage of the grassroots workers, it sounds a bit trivial. However, I also feel that there is only a minor appearance in these places, which is what many of us have experienced during that terrible period: music and the ordinary human race can bring comfort in difficult times. (From a more superficial standpoint, their stripes and their gorillas won’t damage the parallel lines.)
Not surprisingly, supermarkets around the world have been named “New Clubs” in the past year. In Los Angeles, Vanity Fair appeared in what Vanity Fair described as the city’s newest “ hotspot, ” avoiding the paparazzi’s penchant for healthy food destinations. A Missouri grocery store has turned a substandard hot salad bar into a festive tiki bar. On the other hand, major LGBTQ + Peru nightclubs will transform themselves into supermarkets.
Another problem I developed in March was that when I heard first-class pops as I walked down the aisle, I uttered a certain shout for buying supplies during the Great Escape Epidemic: “Club Grocery. Club Grocery. Club- grocery store (You need to express the tone and tone you use when cheering lazily for someone in the middle of the wedding dance circle.) To a new place to listen to music, I’ll quietly repeat a similar hymn: “Club Roof, Club Ceiling.” Uber Club, Uber Club “Covid City Club Health Department, Covid Test Center, Covid Club Health Center, City Health Test Department.”