Saturday night. Will I watch a film? What film? Ahhh there's too much choice. I'll watch a TV show instead. What TV Show? Sweet jesus there's too much choice. I know. I'll watch an old show. Something binge-able.
Monday night. How the hell am I on episode 13 of The Wire already?
Because it's amazing that's why. The Bunk. McNulty. Kima. Lester Freeman. Real Po-leece painted in shades of gray. Weebey. Bodie. Poot. Stringer Bell. Poor doomed Wallace. Bubbles the heroin fiend with the heart of gold. The street faces who'd be one note scum in any other show but here they're given a depth that makes you want to see them survive, escape, succeed. Altogether they stun as a twisting, turning, almost labyrinthine narrative is spun around them. It's spellbinding TV that demands your attention, from the big shockers to the smallest details. As Freeman once said "All the pieces matter." 19 years after it first aired on TV it still pisses over most everything else.
Some people have Downton Abbey. Some have Drag Race. Others rewatch Friends endlessly. Me? I find my comfort watching on the vial and body strewn streets of West Baltimore, Maryland.
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