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If Normalcy Were Redefined
On Rocheblave one sad dog and I resort to idle dreaming as the other dogs bark resentfully. The canopy overhead is gray, a woman's dress is caught in the car door, and palm fronds anticipate nothing.
Broken Window
Over on Dumaine to fix a broken window and V yelled down the block enthusiastically, "you back." I nodded and waved, moving towards my truck to get some tools and V thought I was leaving so he yelled, "boy, get you down here." I yelled back that I was working and he said where and I said right here and he said oh. Work is supposed to be a priority but I did not want to appear rude so I walked down the broken and buckled sidewalk and held court with the abbreviated version of the Dumaine Gentleman's Club. We talked for about an hour, V and I on the stoop and Mister up on his porch.
Mister said he was interested in my school bus yellow 85 Dodge truck and I had to tell him the unfortunate truth that a man had just ten minutes previous come by Rocheblave and asked did I want to sell it. I told that man a bunch of truth too but he still wanted it even though the transmission may be amiss and the gas mileage is less than ten per gallon. When he asked me how much and I said two bills he did almost salivate. I hope he will be happy with it. I guess the Cadillac spoke hubcaps may be worth something.
We started talking about how people get drawn back to Dumaine; who was on and who was off the crack; who killed whom when, where and why; how does a man survive multiple gunshot wounds; how many people they knew who had been shot and how many times; who was in jail for that murder in the east even though it was probably the recently dead cousin who did that one; how a thirty-year-old man could have thirteen children; why Bourbon St. sucks and why we never go there; who of the dead we missed; why I don't have a girlfriend; why you couldn't park at the Superdome for the Sugar Bowl; why there are mosquitoes in January; what a nice day it was; which of the children preferred knives and which preferred guns; who was working this corner and who was working that one; what I would do with Rocheblave when I left; how one family member had only done three years for murder and this other one was looking at life. I then excused myself and went to replace that window.
There were some complications because the kid at the hardware store cut the glass just a fraction too large and the frame itself seemed to be out of square a bit and whoever had smashed the window had also broken the sash. I did a little screwing and gluing, a little shaving, some daydreaming, some hand shaking and a whaddup or two. I also did some snooping because I could clearly see all the characters at the corner in the glass reflection. But nothing terribly new going on there, watch the movie.
Shelton came by, said he was living in Gretna with his father, and working at the Belle Chase MacDonalds. He commiserated with me as one hard worker to another, said he understood why I had always been such a tired, grumpy son-of-a-bitch at the end of the workday. I told him I had been taking it kind of easy for the last year or so, but that I could still be a grumpy son-of-a-bitch, just not as tired while being it. He looked good, had his hair done in those little I don't know what you call them braids. I had my pony-tailed contained in a dozen or so of those black elastic hair ties and he told me I should hook up with Angelina Jolie, as in Tomb Raider. I guess there isn't a peace bond out on him anymore because M didn't seem too upset that he was within a thousand yards of the house.
BeBe came by with one of the children of her dead brother, Poochie, a little girl that would be Shentrell's sister, but that had never been around before, just like Shentrell, who used to always be around, is never around now.