I almost got another Slurpee on my way home from the Dirtfarm yesterday. That first one was mighty satisfying, but I eventually decided not to bother stopping my car.
I spent the entire drive home flipping channels on the radio, feeling a strange urge to dance to something...anything. When I'd find a decent song, I'd wiggle my butt on my seat, and sway my shoulders.
I hate parking and walking in my neighborhood at night. I might be paranoid, I might be wise, or I might be recalling the horror stories told to me by Chris X. I remember one night when I couldn't find a parking space. Even though it was his poker night, I called him and picked up his house key so that I could drive to his house and sleep there.
I don't think I'm that scared of Mt. Vernon anymore, but I am still cautious. It bothered me last night to realize that my knife wasn't in my bag.
"If a friend calls you on the telephone and says they’re lost on Martin Luther King Boulevard and they want to know what they should do, the best response is ‘Run!’ ” - Chris Rock
As I sat at a stoplight on MLK Blvd, I was startled by the haggard face of a skeletal woman pressed against my passenger window. I shook my head 'no' to whatever she was asking, but she continued to peer back in at me and say something that I couldn't hear over 'Earth Angel' on my radio. I inched my car forward to avoid her glare. She was no ordinary beggar. Her eyes were creepy and sunken. I worried that she might be an omen.
I parked up on Read Street. A man stood on the sidewalk and watched me park. He then stood on the corner as though waiting for someone. I became paranoid, and shuffled through things in my car while waiting for him to walk away. We exchanged glances. He started to step away, and I got out of my car. I walked in the other direction, down Ploy Street, to avoid him.
I was safely home in minutes.
Mt Vernon felt ominous yet calm last night. The slight chill has delayed the summer night syndrome from taking hold. Silence and the highway.
I was almost disappointed as I approached my building. The night is always asking me to stay longer. For a moment, I felt comforted and content, pleased and excited by my own company.
There is loneliness, and there is missing people. I am not particularly lonely. When I clear my mind of anyone but me, and I get past the awkward silence of self, I could spend hours alone walking around and memorizing the details of the world around me.
I really do mentally narrate almost everything when I am alone. It's all written down on thin sheets of thought that blow away in my breezy mind.
Sometimes I get around to transcribing what I can remember. Usually I don't, but just now I did.