that whiteboy on the roof threatened to jump, so the whole block went outside to watch the cops talk him down. he seemed like just yr average, sullen motherfucker, and not at all like an edged-out case who was about to swan dive into eternity. also, he picked the shortest building on the block. it was like when I was 11 and used to carve at my wrists with a plastic takeout knife.
the cops yelled up that if he jumped, he most likely wouldn’t kill himself, “just fuck yrself up real bad”, which I thought was a pretty good point to make.
the whiteboy shook his head and repeated his line about having three kids and nothing to show for it.
I hung around on the periphery, eyeing the cops and picking halfheartedly at the smoker’s callous on my thumb while I eavesdropped on my neighbors’ conversations. I guess this plus all the Reagan coverage was really bringing out the latent morbid fucks in people. one chubby, jolly looking Indian woman asked a guy and a girl couple if they could sum up their lives in a 30 second eulogy. the wife snapped her gum and stalled and pulled on her hair before finally admitting that she couldn’t do it. they guy smiled and rubbed his chin.
“30 seconds? OK, here you go:
‘It started out good and it got worse.’”
this cracked everyone up—even me, so that I totally missed seeing the whiteboy change his mind and go back inside. safe and sound.
I heard that venus was in front of the sun yesterday and that it would be visible as a black dot during sunset, when it’s possible to look directly at the sun without blinding yr self, but I only remembered this when it was 2 AM and time for the army of infomercials to take over the air. I take an odd solace in these mutant pieces of broadcast. It’s comforting to believe that there is an 800 number for everything evil in the world, from acne to lousy saran wrap to exercise machines that don’t fold up and disappear when yr done with them…yessir…they have lotions, they have potions, to hide yr shame from all those prying eyes…
zulieka
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