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driftwood in circles again

August 15, 2012

From my bird’s eye view on the eighth story I can see an awfully lot of the city. Sometimes if I let my eyes slide just right I can see so far that there is no perspective and no horizon. Is pretty rad. Generally however when I’m looking out the window on purpose instead of as an aside while trying to come up with a perfectly turned phrase or twenty percent of something from the hundreds column it’s because people are fighting in the streets.

The building in the middle

is called Safety Net, an incredible place usually sporting lines down the sidewalk that put Salt and Straw’s to shame. They offer services for people in need, and so there tends to be a decent amount of desperate persons out front at any given time. Sometimes they scream at each other. Sometimes they scream at the police. Sometimes they stand on the street corner and scream all by themselves. One dude spent a while berating all the cars parked in the area. It’s a screaming kind of place.

Today there was some screaming, and I wandered over to the window to see what it was this time. A girl was yelling at some old dude pulling a duffle bag, and he was standing there looking confused. Every so often there’d be a break in her tirade, and he’d say something, and whatever it was would set her right off again. Up the sidewalk she raged, fuck him, he nothin. Back down the sidewalk she raged, damn bitch, he gotta learn, y’all don’t talk to strangers like that. Sundry persons stepped in and stepped out. Bystanders were told to mind their business, cunt. Back and forth and on it went, and I literally wasted about fifteen minutes of my day sitting on the edge of the printer shelf, watching this drama fold in and over on itself. At last it appeared to be over, and she of outraged majesty went into the corner store. The old dude just stood there, looking after her, confused.

She came back out of the corner store, and saw him still standing there. Oh, don’t yell at him again, I thought, feeling sorry for his obvious mental fog in the face of her raging verbosity. But she did, she yelled at him again, standing at one end of the block waving her fists. He stood at the other end of the block, shoulders sagging, and then all of a sudden he just opened up his hands in a gesture of, I don’t know. And she went sailing down the block toward him like a full rigged battle ship at out arms, yelling all the way. And she reached him, and she flung her arms open and asked him something, speaking quietly for the first time in my short observation of her. And he replied, and then, just like that, she gave him a huge ass hug, patted him on the head, and went away. He turned and went the other direction.

I am

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