MidSummer Heat • 4am • 12th Street • Little Rock, Arkansas • Coin De La Rue Douzième à travers du “endroit où l’on peut se procurer du crack” • Corner House • Bed
*Fan whirrs in the dim amber streetlight refraction shining through the window onto the red-lit alarm clock, in an otherwise dark room*
*Every toss & turn creeks the decades old headboard*
Outside:
*Crackheads yelling, arguing in an incoherent stream of foreign consciousness; heard through the decades old window*
Inside:
“Here we go again…”
I look at the red-lit alarm clock…
This time: *04:02am*
“Man… they still goin at it 😒”
Outside:
“Womp, Womp-Womp, Womp Womp.”
“Womp Womp-Womp Womp Womp, Womp Womp Womp-Womp-Womp.”
… it goes on. But I tried to not remember what was said on purpose.
Inside:
I remember periodically waking up to this same occurrence every night. Not necessarily at the same time, but always in the same way.
It’s almost like they were stuck in a scene of a movie that kept rewinding every night.
While they were stuck in repetitive cycles, I was counting the days until the journey back home.