On Flight and Those Unfortunate Enough to Attempt It....
As I make that left onto Mulberry - all lined with pecan trees and little yellow flowers in the patchy crab grass lawns - I hear a scream from a second story apartment, all high-pitched feminine and full of tears. And as the suit case flies from the open doorway, unlatched and throwing clothing - blue shirts, black socks, faded khaki pants all raining down in an arc, the suit case landing with a thud upon the roof of the idling Honda Civic waiting below - I wonder what the fuss is all about and continue on my walk down the street with but a single glance over shoulder to try and get an angle through open door at the black eyed Nancy who wouldn't do it anymore.
I walk on past in innocent by-stander fashion and make my way to the corner where I will wait for that bus to make its rounds and take me down the street to buy a pack of cigarettes and a Coke. No, I don't smoke - but I like the look of that pack all rolled into shirt sleeves Dean Moriarty style and my room-mate has declared the prospect for a dollars worth of profit if I can manage to swing by and pick one up on my stroll across this town that we have been calling home now for so long.
As I stand and wait for that bus to come and take me to that shiny Mecca of convenience shopping - all inflated prices and shoddy Japanese made toys amongst the lottery tickets and cigarettes and beer beer beer as far as the eye can see - I hear the breaking of glass and, in the same arc as those blue cotton fruit of the loom shirts and faded khaki pants, comes a man flying through the air with all the grace warranted a stone or maybe a little cartoon anvil with the word ACME all in capital letters etched across the sides for convenient anvil marketing purposes. As he sails through the air, he screams a list of profanity the likes of which is seldom heard on Mulberry Street or anywhere outside of Bangkok or maybe a film starring Samuel L. Jackson and hits the roof of that same suitcase-dented Honda Civic with a thud. It was in that moment, just after he exited the second story window but before he made his final impact on the roof of the still idling Honda Civic, that I thought man just may have mastered independent flight.
Well....maybe next time....this is my bus.
I walk on past in innocent by-stander fashion and make my way to the corner where I will wait for that bus to make its rounds and take me down the street to buy a pack of cigarettes and a Coke. No, I don't smoke - but I like the look of that pack all rolled into shirt sleeves Dean Moriarty style and my room-mate has declared the prospect for a dollars worth of profit if I can manage to swing by and pick one up on my stroll across this town that we have been calling home now for so long.
As I stand and wait for that bus to come and take me to that shiny Mecca of convenience shopping - all inflated prices and shoddy Japanese made toys amongst the lottery tickets and cigarettes and beer beer beer as far as the eye can see - I hear the breaking of glass and, in the same arc as those blue cotton fruit of the loom shirts and faded khaki pants, comes a man flying through the air with all the grace warranted a stone or maybe a little cartoon anvil with the word ACME all in capital letters etched across the sides for convenient anvil marketing purposes. As he sails through the air, he screams a list of profanity the likes of which is seldom heard on Mulberry Street or anywhere outside of Bangkok or maybe a film starring Samuel L. Jackson and hits the roof of that same suitcase-dented Honda Civic with a thud. It was in that moment, just after he exited the second story window but before he made his final impact on the roof of the still idling Honda Civic, that I thought man just may have mastered independent flight.
Well....maybe next time....this is my bus.
posted by Joshua Skrobarczyk at 2:04 PM
1 Comments:
Josh, Honestly I am jealous because what you write is what I wan to write, but I can never seem to get the words out of my head and onto paper. It's like you are taking my thoughts and writing them for me. But don't get me wrong, you are unique and your work it completely yours. Props to you man, props to you.
Post a Comment
<< Home