Last Jive

Sitting in on the rambling ranting of a bitter ol’ man:

There’s too many of ‘em so there’s no fighting back. Be done-crushed under the heavy wheel. The heavy wheel don’t stop for no man. The heavy wheel don’t stop.

What’s that noise? HA!…that’s the armor plate clanking. You’re starting to rust up, old man. Your brain is stuck and your joints are sticking.

It all hurts, godamnit. It all hurts.

Of course it does. Did you think your exit would be graceful?

Never thought I’d find myself like this.

Welcome to your age. 


Fuck you....


Oh, and I see you chose our popular “Isolation Option”, affording you the very finest in a solitary exit. Loneliness can be oh-so private!

Don’t need no one.

Of course. That is your choice. This world is of your making. However, You might be more grateful…

Grateful for what?

The opportunity to participate.

That ain’t funny. Mine was a miserable life. I got no one to thank.

You got no one to blame for being so miserable either.

I am. But it ain’t like I called you. You come looking for me.

Misery loves company.

Miserable is right, and You ain’t company. You think yourself a comedian do ya? Pat little answers…jive.

Jive is alive within the pathos of life, my friend. Pulsing blood. Gibberish to mask the pain. Sometimes jive keeps you alive and you just gotta go Ya! Ya!

Past that point where it matters to me.

I can see that. Would you like to leave ahead of schedule?

Is that allowed?

Of course, you know the line, he died ahead of his time?

Yeah?

I’m usually quite prompt, but it’s never ahead of time. It is simply “Time”.

Then Damn you too.

They usually do.

Dawdler

The cat was patiently pondering a moth that fluttered mad against the window glass, frustratingly close but still safely distant. I watched the scene anticipating the moment the cat decided...
That’s when I saw the guy exiting his car, parked right there. I noticed he zipped his pants when he got out and stood up. Made me suspicious and a little put off. Didn’t care to know why. He had sandy blond hair, thinning badly, especially on top, from my view. Wisps. He patted them down. Dressed preppy, nice and neat. Polo shirt, some creamy peachy color that did not compliment his rather pale complexion. Had moles or freckles on that fair skin of his. Like he sunburned easy. Wispy is a good general description. He was slight, his polo tucked into khaki pants, belt cinched tight down to the last belt hole. Trim but his movement bothered me. You can tell a lot by the way person carries himself, his character. Tall, rail thin lanky. Chin lacking. He definitely had a hint of a slink. Serpentine. His eyes were active almost suspicious and he failed miserably to meet the eye of a passerby, never tried. He made his way up the stairs to the landing and I heard her bell ring. You can hear because the buzzers are mounted just behind each doorway, within each tiny vestibule, and it echoes down the hall, you can tell by the sound, the distance and the door it came from. Hers was number Seven, down toward the end on that side, opposite me. Test me if you want I have been here twenty-four years, I know the buzzers.

I haven’t seen her in almost three weeks. That’s a little unusual but her work has taken her away before. Can’t really tell the difference since she’s so quiet when she is home…there is no difference. Except for the occasional doorbell. I think gentleman friends would come to call. There was an incident...it could have been him... 
On this particular occasion I saw the shadows pass under the door, two pair of feet sneak down that way late one night. I imagine she met him at the door so he would not have to ring. It was a calculated rendezvous. Why else try to sneak by? The quiet ones can be deceptive. I never met this particular caller. Ever. Never set eyes on him again. For all I know they had only the short dalliance and one or both may have decided it was a mistake or served it's purpose. They often are, or do. Best let a mistake slip quietly out of your life as quickly as it approached and passed through. No sense dawdling in hopes of something meaningful. I’ve been here twenty four years…I’ve seen some dawdling. Never amounts to much, and often worse. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be meaningful. Maybe it was meant to be fast and carnal, and the deed got accomplished. Maybe his zipper was his problem. Or hers. Who knows? I am not one...