Sitting here in the living room which has become my home for the past two weeks, it’s still the same. The guy across the way with the light on in his living room where he dances, arms moving wildly, body spinning, and I can’t tell if it’s dancing, aerobics or an epileptic fit.
I wonder what the music is (if it’s not the latter of course), so I crack the window but still can’t hear. I try to look away but all the same I can’t, like the scene of a car accident or a celebrity on the sidewalk (I’ve been looking). The light goes off and I think it’s over and then I think that perhaps he’s sitting there looking at me, laptop on my lap, typing away, being boring, being unexciting. Then the light goes back on and he’s on the phone and ironing something or folding something and then the light goes off again.
It’s like the guy on the subway on Friday who looked normal enough but then, after staring at me from 14th street to 1st Ave (while I tried to avoid his gaze by looking at the ad that telling me I can learn French in three months if I just go to this website...) asked me to marry him. I smiled and said, no, thanks and got off the train.
Tomorrow is Monday and its tainted my Sunday. I didn’t make it down to the Living Room in the East Village tonight to see the boys play but will make it again next week. I’ll be out of Brooklyn in a few days, though I have come to appreciate it, and will have to say goodbye to what has become my own personal living room and the couch and the guy across the way.
The light is back on.
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