Tuesday, August 21, 2012

When you live on the basement floor of the condominium, where all the excess water flows, there are 4 sets of people above you. On the fourth floor two 64 year old women sit with impeccable posture and sloppy vocabulary. One smokes while the other chats, then they switch. They talk about herbs that don't exist, and that one time when they lost their glasses in the handicap stall. They are blissfully de-tatched from society, and the excess oblivian flows on down. On the third floor 3 bikes lean against the patio railing while boys who were popular in high school lounge on secondhand couches. Their grandparent's worry about them, because their shoe laces and values are too loose and they could trip onto their face. And the excess danger flows on down. On the second floor, an old Brazilian man and his wife have very quiet nights. Tiny screens multiply and reflect off of their spectacles as they try to figure out technology, cursing it while using it dry. They don't talk much, and the excess silence flows on down. On the first floor, right above this basement, lives a lonely man. He is a tortured artist. He knocks over ingredients in his little kitchen, just trying to make mediterranean cuisine from scratch. He drops a lot of heavy things and paces at 3 am. He ruminates heavily over vague ideas. And oh the excess vagueness, how it flows on down.

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