Wednesday, March 14, 2007
So. The ice on the river began to rot eight days ago, breaking up two days ago under the persistant influence of the sun. Buds are beginning to swell and the air no longer has a fetid chill to it.The windows could be thrown open to flush the last bits of fusty air from the corners of our apartment and the Scary Neighbors were out in full force and full volume.
They take all of their troublesome elements from one young man who yells at passing cars and at us every time we enter or leave our own house. He has the skankeddiest hair I have *ever* seen, and no sense of dress whatsoever; he seems to think that any jersey-hoodie-white-sneaker combo is good enough. Sure. To be buried in. Maybe.
(I have begun to notice a striking similarity between this guy and his yelling at passing cars and the way dogs chase moving cars and bark. I wish the guy next door would get just a little closer to the dog's behaviour. Some dogs get too close to the car and get clipped, you know, and that's not always a bad thing.
Anyway . . . he and his buddies blared music from the cheap speakers of the hoopty-mobile in the driveway next door and sauntered down the block to our corner harassing all and sundry that happened to pass, with one exception: Today was the first day since the cold set in that the special-crazy old black lady walked by the house pushing her shopping cart full of dead baby dolls and talking to herself. Hoopty Crew & Co. gave her all the sidewalk she wanted and said nary a word. There must be something powerful buried under all those dead baby dolls . . . . I wonder if she does parties. . .
And then - just at 6pm - all of the bells in all of the old spires that bind in our strange bit of world began to ring out the end of the day. That's when I remembered that nothing is so bad that a little time and the right word or touch won't put most of the shine back into things.That's when I begin to feel sorry I spent so much of the day in a slump . . . .
1:12 AM -