It rained a lot, all year round, and he drank to the rain. He'd be drunk, and it would be raining -- he'd sleep and hear the rain falling. The rain fell through things, through moonlight, sunlight, through holes in the eves. Dripping eves made him angry. A drainpipe was clogged with leaves, and the rainwater turned black at the foot of the sinking foundations of the two-story building he rented the apartment at. When it rained especially hard, the wall of the abandoned house next to the apartment would turn the color of tanned skin. Then he'd unsteadily turn on a light that should have shed an amber happy glow to offset this. The light was amber, it cheered him a bit, but then he forgot what he felt and the dreaming would start again. Two closets with curtains instead of doors leered at him, full of old papers and old boxes.
----
Oak Park
Lombard Street
2009
No comments:
Post a Comment