Finding the Time

When Alvin asked me to pick up his 'billfold' from the iced-over drive way, i thought: "A literal move!"

Never properly prepared for life on the ice, the human race invented slip-on shoes and I have embraced them. They wear more quickly, but they only cost $10.

Alvin greeted me again today: "Young man, thank you for getting my billfold," as he chipped with a spade at the 3 inches of death at his feet.

"You're welcome, sir," I said.

Mr. Mays (names have been changed to protect the homeless) then started talking about how he'd climbed over the fence - in his apparent feeble state - only to slip drop the wallet in hand, err, rather, billfold; before slipping and leaving it. Luckily I was there to help him out or he would have had to call the fire department.

I have walked around the block twice, spent countless hours searching for cars and talked to people in all places not here amongst the Siberian-esque conditions. Or is there just a lot of snow and chilly temps in Northern Russia?

I'm afraid my music has annoyed the neighbors due to its inconsistency. But we all know when a song hits you right, you have to peck at the volume button to raise it past the point you already know doesn't exist.

The only thing that has remained the same is that I've listened to Modest Mouse's 'Dramamine' and Radio Dept's 'Clinging to a Scheme' album about 27 times.

At present The Knife greets those in Suites A and C.

However, amongst the anxious upheavals, airplanes flying overhead and my kicking the chair-frozen to the ground, perhaps spraining my largest toe on my right foot, not to mention nearly slipping and breaking my own feeble body, I've gotten quite a bit of nonsensical writing done.

I try to be happy with it, but what fills moleskins is 'for no one' and is literal illustration of that which attempts to seep, sometimes does, but mostly remains locked up in the inner clutches of the soul.

As the sun sets, i take note of the strange color of Alvin's house and the birds that aren't present upon his red roof.

An pink (faded red) piece of tape tied upon the top of an electric-metered stick, flies with the cold wind as if someone running to battle, flag in hand, got trapped under the ice.

The lights are off and the furnace kicks in, though I keep it low because who needs heat anyway?

I think as I slid a few feet, readjusted, slid again and then tip toed in my black Urban Outfitter slip-ons, that this could be my final few days stuck within the clutching of the aftermath with blizzard-like conditions. Warmer weather is on the horizon, and though I don't complain as those who choose to live here forever, I will say I don't like the inability to sit outside whenever I want and read or jot things into said moleskin.

I mused about driving to the store to buy some more food, salt for the sidewalks and cheeto's but thought better of it.

I do need to cook something, eat and take out the trash - risking my neck and my warm feet - so I must go.

Have a good night everyone.


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