(no subject)
Now that I have my computer back, I'm going to continue my goal of 250 words at least per day. Here are the 407 I pumped out today:
Walking down seven blocks with five to go, I stop at what seems so far away from home to listen to a couple fight. It’s a real fight. It doesn’t sound like it could just be the TV, but it sounds like it could be on TV. She came home and, “What’s she doing here? At first I was just surprised, but what are you doing here?” He’s confused because she’s having a beer with his roommate. He says “Who has a beer? A beer? No one has a beer. What do you mean a beer? They don’t even sell beers. They sell beer.” He’s screaming. I’ve made some of this conversation up. What I really heard is, “Yeah, you would,” and “Would what?” I stand outside the window where I can see the top of the refrigerator, which is oddly placed in front of the window. There are a lot of windows in this house. A lot of windows into the lives of these two people and the roommate-I believe I’m not making this person up. And I stand here for a moment, as pensive only as much as the empty beers on the table, and I hear no sound. No slammed door, no shattered picture frame or mirror, no chucked beer cans, just quiet. Perhaps they’re using their six inch voices. Or their perfectly audible conversational voices which don’t penetrate the walls because the house is decent. Perhaps they’re playing cards or looking for cigarettes in the other room-“Where’d you put them?” But I think, “How funny wouldn’t it be to call a domestic disturbance.” I walk to the front of the house and jot down the address. I don’t call until I’m home. I order a pizza first. Then I call and I say, “I’d just like someone to go over there and check it out and make sure no one’s hurt. For Lord knows I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if someone were hurt and I’ve not done something of it.” I hang up, throw back a beer, and think of how embarrassed they are going to be when the cops show up over a tiff about “a beer”. They’ll probably feel sorry to each other, but more than anything they’ll be ashamed of their selves-ashamed not as a couple, but as individuals who take things too far. If I could only have my day with these people…
Walking down seven blocks with five to go, I stop at what seems so far away from home to listen to a couple fight. It’s a real fight. It doesn’t sound like it could just be the TV, but it sounds like it could be on TV. She came home and, “What’s she doing here? At first I was just surprised, but what are you doing here?” He’s confused because she’s having a beer with his roommate. He says “Who has a beer? A beer? No one has a beer. What do you mean a beer? They don’t even sell beers. They sell beer.” He’s screaming. I’ve made some of this conversation up. What I really heard is, “Yeah, you would,” and “Would what?” I stand outside the window where I can see the top of the refrigerator, which is oddly placed in front of the window. There are a lot of windows in this house. A lot of windows into the lives of these two people and the roommate-I believe I’m not making this person up. And I stand here for a moment, as pensive only as much as the empty beers on the table, and I hear no sound. No slammed door, no shattered picture frame or mirror, no chucked beer cans, just quiet. Perhaps they’re using their six inch voices. Or their perfectly audible conversational voices which don’t penetrate the walls because the house is decent. Perhaps they’re playing cards or looking for cigarettes in the other room-“Where’d you put them?” But I think, “How funny wouldn’t it be to call a domestic disturbance.” I walk to the front of the house and jot down the address. I don’t call until I’m home. I order a pizza first. Then I call and I say, “I’d just like someone to go over there and check it out and make sure no one’s hurt. For Lord knows I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror if someone were hurt and I’ve not done something of it.” I hang up, throw back a beer, and think of how embarrassed they are going to be when the cops show up over a tiff about “a beer”. They’ll probably feel sorry to each other, but more than anything they’ll be ashamed of their selves-ashamed not as a couple, but as individuals who take things too far. If I could only have my day with these people…