Petty criminal behavior on the part of fat old guys who should know better.
There are two kinds of old men in this world. Those that have given up and those that are still trying to prove something. The first type take up fishing or heavy drinking and spend a lot of time hanging around bars or coffee shops or sitting at home watching reruns of Jeopardy. The Second type grows a beard, marries his secretary who is fifteen years younger than he is and buys a Harley.
The hero of this story doesn't own a Harley, not yet, but he does have a girlfriend eleven years younger than he is. He lives in a pseudo-artist loft, apartment building in an old part of town. The walls in this building are pretty thin. He can hear the neighbors having sex and they can probably hear him. This can be stimulating but it makes for minimal conversation when you run into someone in the hall.
On this particular night one of the neighbors, the one who lives just beyond the head of our hero's bed is high in meth or some other stimulant. He is playing the stereo at top volume and screaming at friends over the phone. This goes on tell eleven when our hero gets pissed enough to go out into the hall and knock on the guys door. The knock is unanswered so the knock gets louder until finally the guy realizes that the rapping he hears isn't part of the drum and base mix he has on the stereo. The guy doesn't open the door. He looks at our hero through the peephole. The exchange that takes place between the guy and our hero takes place through the closed door. Our hero asks him to turn down the volume. The guy says he will and actually does for a while. Our hero returns to his apartment and falls sleep.
Our hero is jerked awake by the guy next-door's stereo about three AM. Our hero is pissed. He pulls on some cloths and storms out into the hall. He slams on the guy's door but this time there is no response. Our hero goes back into his apartment and calls the landlord. She tries to call the tenant next door but gets no answer. The best the landlord can do is suggest that our hero call the police. In this part of town police response is spotty at best so this suggestion is only an empty formality.
Our hero is left standing in the middle of his apartment trying to think what to do next.
In retrospect he should have just packed up and gone to a motel for the rest of the night and than tried to collect the cost of the room from the neighbor next day. But he is an old guy with something to prove and at this point he will be damned if some buzzed up punk will drive him out of his bed.
There is a ledge, a wide ledge that runs along the side of the building. It runs under our hero's window and under the neighbor's window as well. Our hero goes out the window walks along the ledge and looks in the neighbor's window. Maybe the guy is unconscious or dead he reasons. But what he finds out is that the guy isn't even in his apartment. He has gone out and left the stereo on. The complete thoughtlessness of this makes our hero even more angry, if that is possible. Now any pretense of civilized behavior evaporates into the warm night air.
The neighbor has left the window partly open and it doesn't take much to open it the rest of the way and climb into the room. Our hero intends to shut the machine off but there on top of the stereo, as if left by the devil, is a pair of wire cutters. It is all too convenient. Snip, snip, and the speakers are no longer connected to anything and there is silence. Our hero climbs back out the window and goes back to his own apartment. He makes love to his girlfriend who has been aroused by all these testosterone fueled criminal shenanigans and falls asleep.
The next day the landlady is outside his door demanding that he meet with his neighbor and resolve the conflict. Apparently the little weasel has gone crying to momma and has forgotten to mention just how high he was at the time. Our hero admits nothing and maintains a blank I don't know what your talking about attitude through out the exchange. In a very reasonable tone he agrees to meet the young man. Next day the guy is at our hero's door complaining about the cut speaker wires. Without admitting anything our hero agrees to pay for new wires when the guy presents him with a recipe for the wires. The guy apologizes for forgetting to turn off his stereo before leaving his apartment. Our hero remarks, "the next time it happens I will handle it in a different way." Implying that the different way will be much more unpleasant for the young man. The guy never comes back with a recipe and moves out at the end of the month.
A few weeks later our hero goes out and buys a Harley, the biggest one he can find. He spends a thousand more on a leather jumpsuit that makes him look like a bloated black sausage and starts riding to work. One morning it is raining and our hero hasn't had his coffee yet. He miscalculates a turn and ends up being run over by a bus. After that it is Jeopardy reruns till the end.
Short story by Budart
Read 918 times
Written on 2011-07-01 at 22:45
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The Other Kind
There are two kinds of old men in this world. Those that have given up and those that are still trying to prove something. The first type take up fishing or heavy drinking and spend a lot of time hanging around bars or coffee shops or sitting at home watching reruns of Jeopardy. The Second type grows a beard, marries his secretary who is fifteen years younger than he is and buys a Harley.
The hero of this story doesn't own a Harley, not yet, but he does have a girlfriend eleven years younger than he is. He lives in a pseudo-artist loft, apartment building in an old part of town. The walls in this building are pretty thin. He can hear the neighbors having sex and they can probably hear him. This can be stimulating but it makes for minimal conversation when you run into someone in the hall.
On this particular night one of the neighbors, the one who lives just beyond the head of our hero's bed is high in meth or some other stimulant. He is playing the stereo at top volume and screaming at friends over the phone. This goes on tell eleven when our hero gets pissed enough to go out into the hall and knock on the guys door. The knock is unanswered so the knock gets louder until finally the guy realizes that the rapping he hears isn't part of the drum and base mix he has on the stereo. The guy doesn't open the door. He looks at our hero through the peephole. The exchange that takes place between the guy and our hero takes place through the closed door. Our hero asks him to turn down the volume. The guy says he will and actually does for a while. Our hero returns to his apartment and falls sleep.
Our hero is jerked awake by the guy next-door's stereo about three AM. Our hero is pissed. He pulls on some cloths and storms out into the hall. He slams on the guy's door but this time there is no response. Our hero goes back into his apartment and calls the landlord. She tries to call the tenant next door but gets no answer. The best the landlord can do is suggest that our hero call the police. In this part of town police response is spotty at best so this suggestion is only an empty formality.
Our hero is left standing in the middle of his apartment trying to think what to do next.
In retrospect he should have just packed up and gone to a motel for the rest of the night and than tried to collect the cost of the room from the neighbor next day. But he is an old guy with something to prove and at this point he will be damned if some buzzed up punk will drive him out of his bed.
There is a ledge, a wide ledge that runs along the side of the building. It runs under our hero's window and under the neighbor's window as well. Our hero goes out the window walks along the ledge and looks in the neighbor's window. Maybe the guy is unconscious or dead he reasons. But what he finds out is that the guy isn't even in his apartment. He has gone out and left the stereo on. The complete thoughtlessness of this makes our hero even more angry, if that is possible. Now any pretense of civilized behavior evaporates into the warm night air.
The neighbor has left the window partly open and it doesn't take much to open it the rest of the way and climb into the room. Our hero intends to shut the machine off but there on top of the stereo, as if left by the devil, is a pair of wire cutters. It is all too convenient. Snip, snip, and the speakers are no longer connected to anything and there is silence. Our hero climbs back out the window and goes back to his own apartment. He makes love to his girlfriend who has been aroused by all these testosterone fueled criminal shenanigans and falls asleep.
The next day the landlady is outside his door demanding that he meet with his neighbor and resolve the conflict. Apparently the little weasel has gone crying to momma and has forgotten to mention just how high he was at the time. Our hero admits nothing and maintains a blank I don't know what your talking about attitude through out the exchange. In a very reasonable tone he agrees to meet the young man. Next day the guy is at our hero's door complaining about the cut speaker wires. Without admitting anything our hero agrees to pay for new wires when the guy presents him with a recipe for the wires. The guy apologizes for forgetting to turn off his stereo before leaving his apartment. Our hero remarks, "the next time it happens I will handle it in a different way." Implying that the different way will be much more unpleasant for the young man. The guy never comes back with a recipe and moves out at the end of the month.
A few weeks later our hero goes out and buys a Harley, the biggest one he can find. He spends a thousand more on a leather jumpsuit that makes him look like a bloated black sausage and starts riding to work. One morning it is raining and our hero hasn't had his coffee yet. He miscalculates a turn and ends up being run over by a bus. After that it is Jeopardy reruns till the end.
Short story by Budart
Read 918 times
Written on 2011-07-01 at 22:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
