Looking the other way

Spent the afternoon into the evening standing on my fungi-infested arches, handing out the shop's flyers to everyone passing by, unless they politely refused. Lots of people refuse, and some of them aren't so polite any more, but they're not really rude, at least not yet. "Get a life, bub" was the worst of the day, so — not bad, really.

I'm annoying people, but that's my job, dang it, and I'm good at it. It's amusing to see how people react when they see me with my handful of flyers — same as they saw me yesterday and last week, and they're sick of it.

If they roll their eyes or shake their heads 'no', I'll let 'em pass unmolested, but most show disinterest by turning their heads, feigning fascination with a wad of gum on the sidewalk or the weather in the other direction. That annoys me, so I especially pester anyone who looks the other way. "Fabulous shop upstairs, sir!," I'll shout. "Have a flyer, ma'am!" "Fascinating wad of gum over there!"

Never been paid to get on people's nerves before, and I like it.

♦ ♦ ♦

"This has got to be the saddest day of my life." It's the Manhattans, singing "Kiss and Say Goodbye," as the block party continues directly outside my window.

It's 9:45 PM, and the talking and shouting and soul music has been going on since before I got home, 8:30 or so. It's a dozen kids, high school age or younger, liquored up and loud on the sidewalk.

Underage drinking is of no concern to me, of course. No booze until 21 is a stupid law, easily circumvented (obviously). If you're old enough to want a beer, you're old enough to drink one. Cheers, kiddo.

The fistfights and breaking bottles is sorta disconcerting, though. And yet, I was expecting this neighborhood to be hellishly rowdy all the time, so I was wrong — this is the first bad night out the window since I moved to this sorry street. Long as it's not noisy nightly, guess I won't go nuts.

And at least their music is to my tastes. It's all been old stuff from the 1960s and early '70s. Could be worse. Could be rap. Gotta respect it when even teenagers understand that the music of 1995 isn't good enough for a party. 

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile in the next room, there's another rambunctious scene, with Pike yelling at his girlfriend about something or something else. I went in and told them (didn't 'ask' them) to shut up. "If you two hate each other, hate each other quieter."

What a strange relationship they have. They sweet-talk and screw on the couch, and ten minutes later they scream at each other... And I don't know why it took until tonight for me to see some of Maggie and me when they argue.

Ah, it's none of my concern. Out the window I don't care if the kids get drunk and fight, and in the next room I don't care about Pike and whatsername so long as they talk instead of holler.

This is the world and it's often a shitty place — not always, but often. Tonight the shittiness is happening a few footsteps from me, in both directions, but none of it's going to keep me from inserting the earplugs and trying to sleep.

From Pathetic Life #10
Sunday, March 26, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

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