Tuesday, November 5, 2024
Listening to the neighbors cough
Their children scream while their parents cough all over their mobile devices, all while transfixed on these tenacious rectangles they hold so dear. Their children scream like Oskar, but the glass doesn't shatter. They talk all the time and occasionally laugh, which is cool. One set of neighbors makes the block smell like kerosene. I think it's his truck. They don't grill out, thank god and his silly churches. Dogs. They have dogs. There are too many dogs. I got startled by one at Office Depot on Thursday. Got startled in my own driveway. That's the issue: the noise. Barking dogs. I have a right not to be startled. It happened at the courthouse in Newport, too. They bite, too. I make a sincere effort to avoid brushing up against the neighbors. Except one; Ida Miller. She doesn't have a dog. Her children are grown. She's 82. She rarely coughs. I am lucky once again, but small increments, which is perfect.
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The narrowing of life in the third act shrinks the outer flesh of supposed reality while emboldening the bones of honesty so that all comes ...