Walking Around

Kicked out of the house, I walk around as if in a dream. I feel like a sleepwalker. Nothing seems real. Then, like a far away radio transmission, I can hear two voices talking.

"One raindrop is worth 50,000 chairs. Red chairs, to be exact."

"Really? I didn't know a raindrop was that valuable, red chairs or not. How do you know this?"

"Oh -- it's been tested. We don't need to go on about that."

The transmission fades out a bit, as I walk slowly past a upstanding looking two story house with wide tan shingles on it. The house has a faded American flag on a faded American flag pole, by the front door.

"How much would a drop of rain go for in Geese?"

"About 24 Geese to a raindrop."

"Wow. I had no idea that Geese were so expensive!"

"Well, you know, the Geese to raindrop ratio has skyrocketed on the exchange. It can't be helped."

I pass a park, and under the trees some kids are throwing a ball, but I can't figure out what the game is. It doesn't look like any kind of game - just repetitive throwing of the ball back and forth, with a considerable amount of laughter for no apparent reason. It reminds me the time I was living in the Mission District, and I watched this kid play with an old shoe by throwing the shoe straight up in the air, and watching it fall.

"How many battleships to a raindrop?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know."

"Why not?"

"You really don't trade battleships for raindrops. It simply isn't done!"

I wait for a long time to try and cross the street. I wait and I wait, I get sweaty just standing there in the sun, listening to the cars, seeing when it might be safe to cross. For awhile, it seems this time will never arrive -- I'll always be on the wrong side of the street, never ever be able to make it back to my apartment, a block and a half away, on the left.