Moments of Insignificant Bliss
There’s a tiny window seat carved out of the wall to which the view affords 3 feet of open air before smacking right dab into the neighboring apartment building’s shingled roof. Reach your head out of the portcullis far enough and you’ll be able to look left, the East Liberty skyline tattered with church steeples, or right, an uncomfortably close view into the neighbors lifestyles. I hold my hand out the window and let my smoke fill whatever remaining space isn’t consumed by daredevil passing birds or my own loitering thought process, sticky with ideas but thinning quickly with any type of specific direction.
It’s Friday, 6pm or so, and the day will last another several hours enough to keep us in an alcoholic fuzz well before and into the evening turning night turning early morning and finally into our beds, with distorted feelings of the night’s grandeur as we reminisce ridiculously the glory of all events transpired; a feeling that will certainly turn to blurred recollections of blurted out and stumbled over embarrassments on everyone’s part.
And in a Memorial Day weekend you can bank on repeating the same for the next few days.
Up Next: Dick and Qwerty