(no subject)
The knobs made a whirring and whining sound like an old time radio being tuned in. Maybe a weather radio even. Some sort of archaic listening as communication device screaming and squelching to be heard, and somehow knowing and upset that it will only remain a one way communication. No discourse. No interlocution. Nope. Things that whine and sing and moan before they manifest, in the world of communication devices, are sure to be one way mother fuckers.
Pete Limpelli didn’t really think about this. To Pete Limpelli, this was merely a question of creative economics, as he and Carmine Calamari had placed a bet on a naval battle to occur between two bored friends on Lake Me in two weeks as a means to protest the closing of summer, and somehow survive the boring hot end of it.
To Pete Limpelli, sitting his Lincoln Towne Car, in Cheviot, in the parking lot of Cheviot Machine and Screw, the parabolic listening device was just what was necessary. Passive communicative acts. Pete envisioned himself, though not consciously, as an undergraduate at Milton University. Sitting in the back row. Taking an eight o’clock class because he couldn’t find any other time offerings because the university thought it might be a good idea to combat binge drinking by offering more early classes. Pete Limpelli thought of himself sitting there, passively, listening to the professor drone on. About water cannon.
William Comparetto
© 2006