Anodyne
Sunday, April 29, 2007
 
A couple in their early twenties at the 7-11 counter. Suburban kids, just coming down off their big night on the town. Both twitchy, coked-up. Huge wide pupils. The clerk dutifully bags their navel oranges and bright blue Gatorade. The boy attempts to count out change, but his arithmetic's off-line. He shovels a handful of coins onto the counter, arranging them by size and color. The coins hop about like bugs in a microwave. "Five, six, seven. Fuck." Coins hit the floor in a slow-motion shower, escaping under the hotdog machine and the condiment stand. "Twenty-five. And a dime. That's forty, right?" The clerk shakes his head. "Fuck."

"Just leave it, baby," says the girl. "I have a twenty." She opens her tiny shoulder purse, shovels out papers, breath mints, BCID. "Where'd it -- fuck."

"Fifty-five. Fifty-seven. That's a dime, right?"

Out on the street, an explosion: a huge glass bottle hits the sidewalk as if aimed from space. Around it, a ring of miscellaneous debris: the remains of a plastic lawn chair; a curtain and a curtain rod; condoms; a trashed shoulder bag.

Another bottle hits the pavement.

Two bicycle cops pump strenuously up the hill. They park their bikes against a lamppost and lean back, studying the scene.

Another bottle. Bam!

The cops cup their hands to block the early morning sunglare and survey the hotel's upper floors.

A middle-aged head pops out of a window near the roof, hesitates a second, pulls back.
- posted by cjb @ 10:04 AM


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