Wednesday, August 29

level 4 nerdalert

Here's a thing that happened:

When Broome Street met Eldridge, they took a bath together in chicken blood and rotting fruit to wash off the smell of dead things and sewage left out in the sun.

I don't like other people, so I walk faster than them. Never one to play along, the girl walking in front of me sped up when I passed her. Then she fell back. But then she sped up and passed me again, before resigning to a pace that neatly matched mine. I thought about pushing her, and then you showed up.

You were the guy on the bike behind us. Your helmet was the color of dirty teeth, and your glasses were vintage and so was your face. Since the two girls in front of you were walking side by side, you couldn't advance and it made you scream. Once, you screamed "excuse me," and twice you made a noise like you messed you pants and forgot what language was like.

Then one of the girls turned around and yelled, "it's illegal to ride on the sidewalk" at you. That was me. Maybe you were stunned, but maybe I was right about your prior incontinence. Whatever the reason, you made a face that humiliated us both. The other girl glared at me and did a thing with her mouth, which is fine because when we all got to the corner, I kept walking and you both waited for the light to change.

Themes of the story: I won the race.




Here's another way to tell that story:

Parts of Broome Street are gross. I am socially awkward and a bully to old people. Three people were on a street and two of them were normal, while their physical proximity sent the third into a silent panic. That was me. Also, let's forget that other girl because this time, before the story starts, I kill her with how fast I can walk.

You are a nice old man on a bike, and maybe you don't want to ride in the street because your glasses and eyes are so old that they can't see cars and you are afraid. I am still angry about the girl who made me so nervous that I was forced to explode her, so I turn and misplace my anger onto you. When I scream it sounds like any scene in a movie about nerds where one of the nerds is talking, right before he gets thrown in the face with a pie. You're like "whatever" and cruise on with you basket, and I choke on my retainer. A bunch of calculators fall out of my napsack, and a pocket protector beats me to death with a textbook. I get sent to a hell of chicken blood and rotting fruit, where it is my job to separate the dead things from the sewage left out in the sun. You get to the corner and wait for the light to change. While you're waiting, you find ten dollars. A million good things happen to you for the rest of your life. You never shit your pants again.

4 comments:

steph said...

this only reinforces my belief that old people should not be allowed to ride bikes.

Q'r said...

This is like that (new) movie Crash, not because of the intertwined narratives, but because of the old person with waste evacuation difficulties.

Anonymous said...

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