The wonders of a city cannot be defined and they are always taken for granted. Everything down to the traffic one hears outside of a window at 1AM is written off as an annoyance, an impeding growl of noise delaying sleep. But even sleep cannot touch a city. Even sleep cannot lay its delicate hands on the city; it cripples nothing, delays even less.
That is not to say that sleep carries no role inside of a city. In fact, sleep is the recharge of the inhabitants of a city, be they stray dogs, dogs inside fences, or dogs nestled in their kennels. Or humans, I suppose. They usually inhabit such places as well, and, generally speaking, they too require the sleep that turns the world over. While I know it to be false, it is fun to wonder if without sleep, everything would stay dark. Perhaps closing your eyes at night is what brings the dawn and the sun and the heat and the next night, destined for a similar story.
The city carries different dimensions with it. To a bird, a city is an overworked, crowded smudge on their world. Maybe they adapt and find new peace (or something close to it) inside this city, but it isn’t truly where they belong. But beneath the bird, somewhere between the roof of a parking garage and the open window through which all noise seems to travel, there are a multitude of levels.
What about the parking garage? On the bottom level a gaggle of late night partiers wander aimlessly through each level until they find their parked car. Noise recedes as you move higher and dissipates almost all together at the top. The top, where one lone car sits, maybe abandoned earlier today, or maybe just moments ago.
So now travel with me to the next level. A downtown street somehow just as noisy at 1 in the morning as it is at 1 in the afternoon. There is a low, steady bass coming from a club that hasn’t let out yet. People wander in and out of the only two diners open this late, wondering if the party has ended or if it’s just pushed on to Round 2.
So you can see that there are many levels to a city, but I’ll stop at the biggest one, the one that each level can be broken down into: people. People are the lifeblood of a city. They are the ones driving the cars you hear outside of your window. They are the ones abandoning their cars and faith in parking garages. They are the ones who sleep and recharge and bring on the daylight, even when the sun can’t do it on its own. People are part of the city and they are the city itself. So, it is with a sense of amusement that I discover that the very things we take for granted, the very aspects like noise and other “annoyances” are simply our own brother and sister dimensions of our home.
We do turn the world over as people; but we cannot forget that we do not do it alone.
With all of my past relationships, I could always see the end, even from the beginning, he said. Or at least a potential end, and he sighed and shook his head. She could feel it on the pillow.
But with you, and he’d started again, his voice light and airy like it was made up of the breeze that the ceiling fan emitted (his words even kissed the skin in a cool, gentle way. ) But with you I can’t see the end. I can’t pinpoint what will break us.
Broken was what everything and everyone could be. Broken was what people were used to. Plans were made for things that are broken; you fix them, replace them, or live day in and day out with a mess on your hands. In a way, everyone was so much more prepared for broken things than they were the fixed ones.
It’s too perfect, he whispered.
She smiled and turned to face him even though she could only barely make out his face in the shadowy bedroom.
Perfect is one state, she spoke. Perfect is one thing, one level, and it cannot be “too much” or “too little.” It simply is, she said and she could feel these words pour out of her like butter on hot bread, a smooth cascade of a speech long thought but often stifled. And now she willed it to be taught.
Things are either perfect or imperfect; imperfection is also one state and one state only. She paused, and with these new words, breathed calmly and evenly.
Now, the amount of imperfections that something can have, well that can vary. That is the noun to which you can attach “too.”
She turned completely so to mirror him and not miss his face, though she still truly only imagined it through the gray haze of darkness.
I don’t know if we’re perfect, she said feeling as though she’d slipped into song at some point. She felt swollen with a symphony, a lesson, a verse so lyrically written that it begged to be accompanied by sweet, sweet music.
I don’t know if we’re perfect. But I’m blinded by the smoothness, the fullness that is a picture with no flaws; a painting without imperfection.
New Trend in Plastic Surgery: Front-Butt Removal
Gone are the days of the simple face lift or the mundane routine of liposuction. Where once all we had was a few needles and maybe some harsh chemicals, now an entire world of body-changing procedures sits at our doorstep. And currently pushing its new slender physique through our front door? Front-butt removal.
It used to be when you wanted your front-butt gone, you’d set out to work on your diet and exercise routine. But frankly, when you’ve been growing your front-butt for years (as often, gaining new body parts takes some time) you don’t have a lot of spare time to be thinking about “How is this donut going to hurt me?” or “How many crunches a day will I need to do to shrink this protrusion down?” Actually, what you’re probably thinking almost daily is, “How is this going to fit into that?” But, alas, there is a new way of ridding yourself of your new jiggly counterpart: hack it off.
When Douglass Normandy, a 54 year old Florida resident, first heard about this new procedure, he was skeptical.
“I’d had my front-butt for years. I would have never thought about what it would be like to get rid of it,” Normandy said.
Once he began wondering, however, the possibilities ahead were endless. It also helped that his wife, Judy Normandy, got on board almost instantly.
“Dougie was skeptical at first, but once I explained to him the benefits, he turned around,” Judy said. “Since we are husband and wife, the front-butt is kind of a shared experience. And I made sure to get my two cents in!”
All doubts aside, Normandy eventually went ahead as an ambassador for front-butt-sufferers everywhere and had his removed in an easy, outpatient surgery. The results were astonishing. Within a 24 hour period, Douglass Normandy went from having an ambiguously shaped midsection to one front and one back; no confusion involved. And what did Normandy think of this new self?
“It’s remarkable. I mean, it is really something,” said Normandy. “I think the moment that really did it for me was the first time I put on a pair of pants. I’d been wearing them backwards for as long as I can remember. Being able to zip them in the front again, well… it reminded me of what’s important in life.”
I have this really good idea for a zombie novel. I just want to write it but I have all of these other things to do right now.
The topic: Fans and Bottles
For Bailey :D
The two-word topic: Stickers and Doughnuts
On my Mibba (which you will have to have an account to read…) I sometimes post these 400 word short stories set around a random two-word topic a user gives me. Writing, for good or for bad, is what I do best, but I’ve never actually posted anything here. Read if you want (c’mon it’s only 400 words)- this is the first one I ever made :)
Her Biggest Mistake