Wednesday, September 7, 2016

#2 “For One Night Only”

Of course I went to the circus. Everyone did. But that didn’t mean I had fun. I filed into the shady tent along with all the folks from Winthrop Place that I ignore on a daily basis. My parents say I should go out more. I tell them to stop trying to control my life. I left Detroit for a reason, to get away from their endless rules and demands. And now I’m over here with a job, and an apartment and my life together and they still are all on me. Ridiculous.
Well I walked into the circus and looked around to find somewhere to sit. I saw families and couples filling the 3 ringed circus to the brim. It’s moments like these that I was I had a friend to sit with. I walked to the far corner of the circus and took one of the only open seats left. It must have been the smoking section or something because there was cigarette smoke everywhere. It was as if I walked into a cloud, a cloud of short-lived buzzes and burnt throats. I myself hadn’t smoked a cigarette in years but the smell unearthed a deep craving, one I had been waiting for for a long time. I asked the man next to me if I could bum one from him but he didn’t smoke either. I realized he was also a loner at the circus so I talked to him for a minute. He seemed a little wired, always squirming in his seat and looking around but he was alright. We both make music and stuff. I don’t know, maybe I could use a new friend.
But once the show started all chit-chat was gone. I wanted to make sure I got my moneys worth out of the show. I spent $7 on this and sure as hell didn’t want to get ripped off by that sketchy Ringmaster dude. That's like a whole hour of working my dang job. Once the show started I realized this wasn’t an ordinary circus, this was some sort of sick joke. There were these dudes pretending to be lions and others taming them. They were humans they didn’t need to be tamed! A damn waste of my hard earned money.
Anyway, I said farewell to my new acquaintance... Michael? I think... and walked back to good old Winthrop Place. The building was oddly loud when I walked in, the hum of generators was deafening to the point that my ears started to ring. I walked up the stairs one by one, feeling the creaks in the old wooden steps pulsate up my legs and into my chest. I felt like I was watching myself in a movie, the frames clicking along in the dull projector of my life. I had a sinking feeling in my throat, and my palms started to moisten like morning dew falling over a luscious green forest. I kept walking, the fourth floor. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

A busted door frame. A pillaged house. A hammer laid in the doorway.

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