Brian was sitting on the beige shag carpet that stretched across his living room floor. He scooted up to the arm of the couch to give his back a break while he dug through a sheaf of paper dotted with sixteenth notes, sharp signs and time signatures. In places, his eraser had dug holes in the pages.
A record played on a corner table and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. It was a feeble attempt to keep his electric bill down. At least it stirred up the air.
“My night was made, with some drinks and shade, out in the vacant place, far from the human race...” As he sang along, Brian kept his voice low so his neighbors didn’t have to suffer and drank rum and coke out of a plastic cup.
Knock, knock, knock…
He looked at the door. “Hang on,” he called. Probably the building supervisor coming to check out the leak under the kitchen sink. He tossed the papers on the coffee table and grabbed an old tee shirt from the armchair. Once upon a time it had been black, but it looked more like charcoal gray these days. He sniffed it. It smelled more like fabric softener than him, so he figured it was clean enough. He tugged it over his head.
“Locks,” he said through the door. “Lots of locks.” When he finished turning the knobs, he opened up and immediately regretted the sweatpants he was wearing, and the very real possibility that they had a hole in the crotch.
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ninetydegrees
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on 2013-09-22 09:38 pm (UTC)A record played on a corner table and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. It was a feeble attempt to keep his electric bill down. At least it stirred up the air.
“My night was made, with some drinks and shade, out in the vacant place, far from the human race...” As he sang along, Brian kept his voice low so his neighbors didn’t have to suffer and drank rum and coke out of a plastic cup.
Knock, knock, knock…
He looked at the door. “Hang on,” he called. Probably the building supervisor coming to check out the leak under the kitchen sink. He tossed the papers on the coffee table and grabbed an old tee shirt from the armchair. Once upon a time it had been black, but it looked more like charcoal gray these days. He sniffed it. It smelled more like fabric softener than him, so he figured it was clean enough. He tugged it over his head.
“Locks,” he said through the door. “Lots of locks.” When he finished turning the knobs, he opened up and immediately regretted the sweatpants he was wearing, and the very real possibility that they had a hole in the crotch.