Lucian clocked out at exactly five
pm on that Friday late afternoon nearly giddy with the text notification he had
received earlier in the day regarding the book he had put on hold now being available.
It had been another uneventful day in the warehouse, receiving truckloads of
lumber, filling out paperwork, and loading each bundle into its proper place.
The walk to the library from his bus stop was in the opposite direction of his
apartment but the night was warm and still somewhat lit as summer had begun to
arrive.
He
reached the door just fifteen minutes before closing time and retrieved his
book from the older, grumpy woman behind the counter. Despite her sour
demeanor, he thanked her profusely and began the walk home through streets that
looked like something out of Grand Theft Auto. More beggars than he could count
appealed to him for help, and he deliberately avoided eye contact, quickening
his step as they approached. More than a half dozen prostitutes called him baby
far too many times, prompting him to hurry that much more until he reached the
entrance to the apartment building.
He
triple locked his apartment after entering and turned on the stove to pre-heat
it for the pending frozen pizza that waited for him in his undersized freezer.
He sat at his table to begin reading his treasure, his precious, his far too
long in coming latest novel from his favorite author. The oven beeped, alerting
him to the fact that it had reached its predetermined temperature. He slipped a
butter knife between the pages of his book and slid the pizza into the oven in
order to read for another twenty minutes while he waited.
In
what seemed like moments, the oven beeped again, coaxing him to extract his
dinner, to roll it up like a burrito and eat and read until sleep overtook his
fatigue ridden frame. One hundred pages in, he couldn't have been happier with
the strong characters, the solid story line, and the potential for a stunning
climax, of what he wasn't yet sure.
His
next morning started far later than he'd hoped, with the sounds of someone
yelling in what sounded like Arabic, stirring him from his sleep. A taste
somewhat akin to the smell of unwashed feet and flatulence danced about his
tongue as he sat up, forcing him to hurry to the kitchen to overpower the death
inside of his mouth with a swallow of orange juice. After a quick shower and a
light breakfast, he slipped on his workout gear and his trainers to walk across
the street to the dog park to combine fresh air and more reading.
He
quickly scanned the environment to see only three people with their smaller-ish
dogs, which likely meant there would be little to distract him as he read, his
legs crossed out in front of him as he immediately immersed himself into the
story. The main character had just completed a food delivery across town and
returned home to watch a movie about a group of teenagers on a sleepover.
Disappointed with the sudden odd turn into the mundane, he continued to plow
forward as the main character launched into a detailed explanation of the
movie.
The
four teenagers sat huddled together eating pizza, popcorn, and Twizzlers, binge
watching the latest season of their favorite show on the streaming service.
Lucian leaned back and watched two dogs across the grass get into a bit of a
scuffle and he vigorously rubbed his face, hoping that his story would pick up
a bit, reading about someone watching a movie about someone watching TV wasn't
exactly the most exciting plotline. He stood up and began pacing and reading at
the same time, to read that the four teenagers suddenly stopped what they were
doing as someone knocked on their front door. They sat in silence, waited, and
a middle-aged man, one of their fathers, stumbled down the stairs to send away
whoever it was that was disturbing him at this ungodly hour, as he put it.
They
resumed their show to watch the main character walk out of the restaurant at
which he had been waiting for his date, realizing that he had been stood up.
Not one to sit in a restaurant alone, he canceled his reservation and began the
short walk to the auditorium, picking up a burrito on the way. He had already
purchased tickets for a modernized version of "West Side Story" and
wasn't about to waste that much money, so he sat alone and enjoyed the show,
wishing he had someone to bounce thoughts off of.
Not
too thrilled with the singing and dancing, he muscled through it to be further
amused by the music that made up the foundation of the story. The main character
in the play later sat in his parent's library listening to deathcore collection
on his streaming service, whistling along with the sounds. The playlist came to
an end, and he wandered into the kitchen to find a snack, enjoying himself on
the front porch watching cars drive by, groups of kids playing in the street,
and a murder of crows harassing a cat trapped between two garbage cans.
The
boy continued to whistle the last song he had heard, trying to remember the
name of it, prompting him to google the name of the band. This send him down a
rabbit trail of when their latest album was recorded, where it was recorded,
and who produced it. A boatload of information filled his brain with details
that he didn't really need to know but felt like an itch that needed to be
scratched. He pulled up an image of the studio on his phone and tried to
imagine what kind of work and time went into creating this much music.
He
leaned back onto the steps of his front porch and imagined these musicians hard
at work, priming their creative juices and interacting with one another to
reach even greater heights in excellence. The musicians completed their tracks
and the vocalist stepped up to the microphone to layer his voice atop the music,
motioning for the engineer to turn up the volume just a bit, as he needed to be
moved and motivated to draw out the sound of anger and aggression so necessary
for their work.
Three
and then four hours passed, and he looked at his watch to realize that it was
already nine a.m. He always hated starting their recording sessions at such an
early hour, but they really had no choice, being forced to take whatever hours
the studio had available. He finished the fourth song and slipped into the
engineer's room to announce his need for a break, a short walk, a breather to
give his voice a rest.
He
grabbed a bottle of water on his way out and walked for several blocks in hopes
of finding a park with trees and shade under which to rest. Block after block
passed and he caught sight of an open green space with plenty of trees and dogs
running about, chasing one another, and chasing birds. He walked its perimeter
to find a small gate allowing him inside. Though his music was violent and
angry, his message was that of restoring the damage that man had imposed upon
the earth, cleaning up the oceans, the open spaces, and the air with its myriad
of toxins.
He
slowly walked past a singular bench on the edge of the dog park, catching sight
of a young man reading a book, an actual book. Frustrated with the lack of
technology in the young man's hands, he wondered why someone would cut down a
tree just to make paper to make books, instead of just reading off of a phone
or a tablet. Unable to control himself, he walked past the man and slapped the
book from his hands, cursing at him for killing a tree.
Lucian
was tempted to shove the man after he passed but he realized just how large and
aggressive the man appeared, forcing him to reconsider his response and pick up
his book with one eye still on the attacker. "It's just a book,
geez," he thought, rising to his feet, and crossing the street to return
to his apartment. He let himself in, opened his window, feeling frustrated that
he lost his place when the book was forced from his grasp. Looking back out
occasionally at the dog park, he watched the man eventually leave and disappear
back into the city, wondering just what kind of anger would move someone to behave
in such a way.
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