scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

31.8.10

one minute

It's stopped raining but the streets are still wet. I wonder how many of the slugs on the sidewalk made it through the day; i wore my winter boots for the second time in a week. It will be cold again soon. I open my window, i can hear the cars on the gurtel. No trucks at this hour. Most of the other windows are dark, as ever, but i can see a few: there is someone playing video games around the corner, flickering blue and red and grey. On the third floor across the way someone is doing laundry by hand; his downstairs neighbors are cooking hamburgers on the stove, i think, with lettuce and tomatoes on assembly in the next room. A galley kitchen, bigger than mine, with a low, shaded chandelier over the table, dim, but enough for me to see in. They'll eat with forks. A girl walking, also in boots. The cigarette sign is constantly revolving. A man with a cigarette, now, in shorts, in this weather, and he looks up at me and i wish i knew who he was. Hanging out the window is so obvious. Directly across from me there is a halogen lamp and a clock, but nobody is moving. I have CSI on the television because it's the only thing i can stand but even that - how many times am i going to use bring mich um in context? Not helpful when i already know they don't think the same things are funny as me. The loud couple seems to have moved away, and the bar across the street is quiet for once, with the chairs and tables all wet from rain. Nobody porch-sits any more, not today, and no other windows are open.

Labels: reflection, writing