Shift Change

His fever had finally broken and it was time for him to go back to work. He couldn’t be more excited either. The last two weeks and been ones of excruciating boredom. He was uncomfortable just sitting around by himself and was always looking for something to keep occupied. It was tough in his spare apartment. Occasionally he’d flip on the Sears-bought VCR-combo television in the corner of his apartment, but he didn’t have the money for cable and so he got almost no reception. All he could think about was getting back to his post and resuming his routine. That’s what really brought him comfort.

He arrived at the 7th Avenue apartment complex at 7 am on the nose. He always got there precisely at 7 am. This obsessively rigid attention to being prompt was what made his days bearable. He couldn’t fathom how people could amble about their days with no sense of structure. He’d be lost without structure.

He took his post outside the window and did a few stretches to get ready for a long day. As he stood up from having bent to touch his toes, he saw the postman arriving with the daily mail.

“Mornin’ Tony,” he said.

“Good morning Sebastian,” the mailman replied, leafing through a handful of mail. “Haven’t see you in awhile.”

“I was sick,” Sebastian said.

“Sorry to hear that. It’s almost good to have you back.”

Sebastian chuckled and pulled his knee up to his chest. Tony went inside the lobby of the apartment building and dropped off his mail. Then he left and waved to Sebastian, politely disinterested.

The morning went by quickly. A few residents saw him and shook their heads. One old woman even told him she was going to call the super. He flipped her the bird and went back to his post.

At about 12:30 in the afternoon a young woman in her late twenties exited the building. Sebastian had never seen her before.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“No. I’m cool,” he said.

“I noticed you earlier this morning as I was getting breakfast,” she told him. “I thought you were one of the painters.”

“Nope.”

They looked at each other and didn’t say anything.

“So...what ARE you doing in the bushes?” she asked finally.

Sebastian shook his head and smiled to himself. He’d answered this question so many times before it always made him laugh.

“Waiting,” he said.

“Waiting?”

“Waiting.”

“For who or what?” she asked.

He laughed again, this time a little louder than usual. This woman was definitely a new resident.

“For Stacy,” he said.

“Stacy.”

“Stacy.”

There was another awkward moment of silence as they sized each other up.

“Stacy who?” she asked.

“Stacy Reynolds. Apartment 2B,” he said and threw a thumb over his shoulder to point at the window directly behind him. “That’s her window right there. You must be new here. I haven’t seen you before.”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “I moved in last week. Do you do this a lot?”

“Stand in the hedge?”

“Yeah.”

“Um-hm.”

“Well...”

Sebastian wanted her to go now. He’d been distracted long enough. He really should get back to his watch.

“Have you been waiting long?” the woman asked.

“Two years.”

“Two years?!”

“Two year ago this May,” Sebastian said. “She told me she didn’t want to see me anymore. That was on Friday the 17th, it was about 3:18 and we were on the boardwalk. She had on Hello Kitty flip flops that I’d just won playing skeeball.”

“Wow,” the woman said. “You have an impressive memory.”

“And so I wait.”

“For two years,” she said.

“For two years.”

“You don’t think she’s moved on?” she asked.

“Oh she has,” Sebastian replied. “Several times. But she’ll come back. It’s our destiny. That’s why I stand here. So she won’t forget. Our lives are intricately entwined. I can read her thoughts sometimes.”

“Really?”

“I see her in the window sometimes and I know she’s thinking about me.”

“You said she lives in apartment 2B?” the woman asked.

“Yup.”

“Stacy Reynolds?”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but...2B is MY apartment now.”

“Whatta ya mean?”

“I live in 2B,” she said.

“That’s impossible,” Sebastian argued.

“Nope. That’s my apartment.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shit.”

“You didn’t know she moved?”

“I’ve been sick the last two weeks so I haven’t been at my post. Shit!”

“I wish there was something I could do,” she said.

“Did she leave a forwarding address?”

“Not with me. I don’t even know her.”

“Damn.”

“Why don’t you check with the landlord?” she offered.

“He hates me. Says I’m a nuisance.”

“Really?”

“I offered to work for free too, so I could hang around ya know, maybe cut the grass, trim the hedge...”

“What did he say?”

“Said he’d call the cops.”

“That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

They stood there looking at each other. Sebastian looked down at his blanket and lunchbox, both neatly set up at the base of Apartment 2B’s window. He looked back at the woman.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Kinda.”

“You have any interest in having someone spy on you through your window at all hours of the day?”

She didn’t answer, just looked at him strangely.

“It’s just, I’m real comfortable here. This is a great spot for prying.”

“It’d be a shame to see it go to waste,” the woman said.

“I’ve been here two years.”

“Two years.”

“It’s my home away from home.”

“You’d be ok?” she asked. “Just switching like that? Spying on someone else all of a sudden? I thought you said you two were meant to be together. It was destiny?”

“Guess I was wrong.”

“Guess so.”

They looked at each other cautiously, but with a little interest. Sebastian was suddenly very attracted to her and the woman felt a strange enchantment as well.

“So...uh,” Sebastian stuttered. “You goin’ out?”

“For a bit,” she said.

“Is it o.k. if I’m here when you get back?”

“I...uh...” she laughed. “I...guess.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“So, uh, have a good time,” he said.

“You too, “ she said.

“I’ll see you when you get back.
And when you go to sleep.
And...”

“I get it. I get it.”

“Ha!” Sebastian laughed. “Well, thanks.”

“Bye now,” she said and winked at him as she left.

“Look forward to stalking you!” he yelled out. And he did look forward to it. He picked up his blanket and moved it to a different spot under the window and went about preparing his new position.

The Patsy

He’d been suckered again.

He’d been contacted by a strange woman on the internet, who said she lived in the same area as him and was new to the city and wondered if he would like to meet for coffee. He hadn’t responded immediately. Being a consummate pessimist, he doubted the validity of the inquiry. The woman had provided a picture when she wrote and she was attractive and that’s when his skepticism kicked in.

Why would a pretty lady such as herself be interested in me?

He put the whole thing out of his mind and went about his day-to-day affairs.

Several days after, however, he was plagued with an unbearable sense of loneliness and responded to her email. Her email address looked inconspicuous enough and he assumed it might even be real.

So he responded.

That night he went to sleep and reflected briefly on his life. What would she say when she responded? Would they meet up and hit it off? Would his life take a turn for the better?

When he awoke the next morning he checked his email to find it flooded with junk mail. One of the addresses was hers. She had indeed not been a real person, but rather, a spambot. He’d avoided this sort of thing in the past. He’d gotten many such emails and postings in the past that preyed on the loneliness of people as a way to fool them into joining mailing lists for useless products. Many of the emails he received started with similar statements: “I’m new to town. Could you show me around?” and then they provided links to websites that sold vacuum cleaners or college educations or Viagra and Cialis.

He’d been successful at noticing these shameless techniques in the past, but perhaps he’d just been too hopeful this time.

And he was proven wrong.

He’d been suckered.

And somehow that made the loneliness he felt just a teeny bit worse.

However, he took solace in the fact that there where hundreds, if not thousands of other men out there who’ve probably fallen for the same scam. He was now part of a club: The International Association of Perpetual Chumps.

Ah, the internet...

king for a day

sometimes
i say the wrong things,
or the right things
to the wrong people
or the right things to the right people
but loud enough for the wrong people to hear
and that's when things get complicated.
i love her
but not in "that way"
and perhaps she understands
or knows that i'm just a fool
and takes no offense
in loose lips
but i could feel her eyes tapping my shoulder
that night at the bar
and i didn't look back
or try to remedy the situation
because that is not my role.
i hurt more people
by loving the wrong people.
it would be fun to play god for a day
and fix things.
but that's a lot of responsibility
to put on a jester's shoulders.

here, pull my finger...

Yeah? And what of it?

So?! I had an urge to hear Madonna's "Who's That Girl?" I don't know where it came from. One minute I'm listening to "Hello Hammerheads" by Caribou, next thing ya know I'm downloading this Madonna ditty off iTunes. Did I really need to spend $.99 to hear that song in it's entirety? Probably not. Will it ever make it into heavy rotation on my playlists? Definitely not. Do I feel like a sucker? Little bit. But I treat iTunes like a jukebox, where you often drunkenly pay for songs you thought were awesome until you actually deposit your money and hear them again and try to argue with yourself that it sounded different when you were younger, sometimes even convincing yourself that this must be a remix.

Quien es esa nina?
Seniorita, mas fina.

magic trick

pick a number between one and ten.
got it?
now write it down on a slip of paper.
fold it up.
real small, like you're passing a note in class.
that's good.
now pass it to me.
don't forget your number.
this is important.
now i'm going to unfold the paper.
do you still remember what you wrote?
good.
here, i've unfolded the paper.
i'm going to look at it now.

hmm.
that's not the number i was thinking of.

That Old Mix Tape Feeling

The past. What do we do with it? Do we box it up and put it in a far corner of the attic? Do we dwell on it and wish to relive it, rethinking our moves so that we may end up somewhere other than where we are now? Or do we forget it and move on? I've never been one to let go of things easily, and I've found myself running through my life's scenes quite often. Replaying them, studying, trying in vain to find their meaning.
A recent discussion with someone dear to me got me a tad reflective again. I used to make her mixes many years ago. Perhaps this is a lost mix-tape for a long-lost friend...

Reflections for the Summer

A Conversation

Two men stand in front of a loading dock smoking cigarettes.

“’Sposed to be in the nineties all weekend.”

“Jesus. We were wearing jackets two weeks ago.”

“Gonna be a miserable summer.”

“I’m sweatin’ all day. Got my air-conditioner on at home so I get back it’s just a blast of cold air.”

“Least you got air-conditioning. I've got a fan, but no windows. there's really no point. It just blows hot air around.”

A bird lands by them and starts pecking at the ground.

“There’s this fucking bird again.”

“Musta been something there earlier.”

“What are you trying to eat Bird? Nothing there now.”

“Heh.”

“Heh.”

“Oh check this out...”

“What is it?”

“At my building there was this pigeon got sick. He was just stumbling around for, like, days. He just kept bumping around. Sometimes he’d curl up and lay against the wall.”

“Where’s this?”

“My building. My apartment.”

“No. Where in the building?”

“Out front. The entrance area.”

“Oh.”

“So this pigeon is just always there for about a week. Then one day, I’m coming out and there’s this homeless guy out front. He’s EATING the pigeon.”

“What?!”

“No shit. He was just picking it apart in his hands and eating pieces of it.”

“That’s fucking sick. He didn’t even cook it?”

“With what? A lighter?”

“Man, if I ever get to the point where I’m eating dead animals off the street, just fucking kill me. I wouldn’t want to live. Where can you go from there? That’s pretty low.”

“Hey if you’re hungry, you’re gonna eat...”

“Nah, man, I’m jumping in the Hudson and I’m not planning on coming back up. That’s fucked up.”