Wxrds, Of a Dying Writer

Little Grunge Town

            I’d camp out here all night if I could, similarly to a dream, my thoughts made little sense. I may have fallen asleep, dreaming I’m awake some how. It’d seem the beat to my breathing is more soothing than it used to be, or maybe I just haven’t noticed before.

            Little GrungeTown, is what they call this place, believe it or not. I’ve been here for too many slow years now. I think what makes me different is I’m not from around here, no Little Grunge blood in me at all. When everyone was younger it didn’t really matter, but then as people’s vocabulary extended, so did their desire to use it.

             It’s a little teasing, no almost displeasing to use “we” just there, instead I used everyone. Dog, a pleasantly vivid conservationist that lives content in a box behind the post office religiously offers to talk to me every time I pass. He always says “Hello, there boy, how’s your onions?”. Most people would consider a wicked confused stare to illuminate the emotion on their face. But after three time’s of ignoring him, I managed to say “I’m fine, and you?” and since then he revealed a profile of his life to me. He’s not from around here either. No one wanted to take him in to work anywhere because of how he looked, and no doubt his reputation and social status had a lot to present too.

            But what really stood out to me, was that, he was happy just being him. He did have a home, a nice small house, but he wanted to live in a cardboard box because “I find it funny how people react to me” he’d tell me. Even though he thought “outside the box” and lived in a fine way, but proceeded having government cash to keep him feed and a cosy shelter at night.

            He really made me think, it’s funny on how you judge by what you see and hear about people, him especially. I can not deny my thoughts took a more outer view after knowing him. Here in Little Grunge Town, he seemed to be the only guy messing with the rules. If you were African American, you were to be an amazing basket ball player, if you were Asian you were exceptionally intelligent, if you were black you are more than likely a gang member, if you were white, you were racist.

            Theses people wouldn’t have come from Little Grunge Town. But those who did; If you were fat, you were ugly, if you were disabled you were avoided, if you dressed a certain way, you were insulted, if you were small, you were strange, if you were too tall, you were bizarre if you were anything but normal… you were cast aside.

            If you played piano, you were weird. No I never really looked at a piano, I judged it as a very grand instrument. But then with a single effortless glace, I saw Dog in his ragged costume casting his gaze upon his childhood past times, the Piano. I saw him staring at an open piano just inside the window of a shop. I noticed that a piano had black and white keys, even though they are completely distinct, each key played a different sound. A tune would probably get boring with a single sound, and that the tune needs other sounds to make it interesting.