Maura Moon awoke to the bombastic thunder of a dumpster
being pounded, up and down, landing on the ground, in grand ceremonial style...resounding surround-sound, with no
consideration for those that lived along, and just above, this alley of
discontent, this frigid morn, hearing that rumble and clatter, over and over,
rolling down the alleyway, bouncing off the old brick, cold brick, walls. The
squealing brakes, the pneumatic hiss, the cranking arm, the clang of the slots, the
grind of the lift, the growl and the dump, and then the growl... back down, signaling the finale, and
the drop of the empty, dense, tin bin. And
again…and again…
The
stink, the steam, and diesel fume, rise, to underscore the cacophony, the taste of Defeat. In the inhale, a tangible and foul taste. 'Bitter' would be a
blessing, but this was toxic, noxious, consumptive waste. God she hated Wednesday...a winter Wednesday especially. Gray,
bleak, biting, with chafing winds gusting in off the lake. The bus will be late
as she huddles, shaking, in a kiosk of metal and steel, like meat in a freezer case, while wrapped in a mega-graphic of a bimbo holding a burger almost as bountifully
endowed as each of her overtly enhanced breast. Crudely defaced, the graffiti
artist was also an astute observer, his "THREE TITS" summed it up
nicely. Apparently this "She" is "someone" to some target
(boy) audience, but Maura has no clue, who, …nor gives a .... (ALARM!!!!!).....shit! ....she did NOT want
to leave this warm comfort under her toasty dual comforters and flannel sheets... not today...please. Then comes a tapping on her
window,which soon becomes a hard drizzle, turning quickly into stinging shards, rasping
sharply against the glass...not some misty spritz....this pelting was 'driven'. Goddamn it anyway! While she waited for her tea to percolate, the storm grew, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Riley, the retired ad-man next door,
called out, "We can hear you!"
"Fuck
you!!!! ", her retort.
He
always got a good laugh outa’ that, as he intimately understood the grumbling. He, too,
had weathered the weather, while 'working the game' ...won some, lost more, two wives prior, and three
kids...grown and distant...he resides alone, not in his suburb home. That, sadly, went
to wife number three, (his biggest and youngest mistake, and a classic case of
male depressive desperation) so he chose this studio apartment, downtown, in Midtown, (not the 'right side' of Midtown, mind you, but…) six blocks away from his old office. Old Turf. He just couldn't stay
away, plus he knew the general neighborhood, well enough to stumble home from
his nighttime soirees, and essentially couldn't afford much more. Besides,
where else would he go? He'd seen every major market in the US of A, on many an
occasion, in all conditions, and still preferred this town, his town.
On nicer days he'd take a
stroll down the old avenue, hoping, to meet someone, 'one of the gang', heading
out to lunch. And at first it worked, but then they grew fewer and fewer, or
perhaps, to avoid him. The old watering holes were gone, too, and he wondered
where they congregated nowadays…the new crew…he had no clue. Things change. But
on a day like today, he didn't miss any of that, No, sir. They could damn well
have their rugged commutes. "Earn it you bastards," he'd mutter,
" I did, dammit… before I pissed it away on women and drink. Young women,
old booze, those what rules old fools like me, as we come to realize, we always
lose. What the fuck...”
"Yeah,
but I bet you enjoyed the ride," she responded back through the thin flat
walls, already knowing the answer, having heard his stories time and again.
"You’re
gonna miss your bus!" he yelled back.
"Won't
that be a tragedy!?"
“Indeed!
When the rent is due...!"
“Damn
you!”
“Damn
you, too, but take your slicker! It's a pisser!”
“I
see the weather, and I don't take advise from old farts.”
“The
voice of experience!” ( he farts )
“I
hear that, and there's no experience expounded there that I would want any part of!”
“You
don't know what you missed!”
“Damn-Happy
to know that!”
WILL
YOU TWO SHUT THE HELL UP?
“Sorry,
Mrs. Baldwin!”
EVER
HEARD OF A TELEPHONE? MUCH MORE POLITE TO
OTHERS! TEXT FOR CHRISSAKES! It’s SILENT!
“Didn't know you were wearing your aid! Sorry!”
Who
needs a hearing aid with you two as neighbors !
“Go
back to bed, Mitzi!”
Easy for you to say, Riley . And you have a lovely day,
Denise!
“I'll
sincerely try Mrs B.! Thank you! B-bye!”
And
off she went…for good.
It’s
just not the same here anymore.
V
