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• Wednesday Night

  Saturday, Nov 17, 2007 2:38AM / Standard Entry / Members only
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  At the nonprofit where I work, we sometimes receive free groceries that are nearing their expiration date.  Wednesday night as I was about to leave I was told to pack in as many baby cherry tomatoes as I can fit, 'cause apparently nobody else wanted to eat them.  As a decent cook I still had no idea what to do with them.
  My buddy Ethan came over later that night to work on sound for my film Hakuma Hallelujah, which apparently is a masterpiece that nobody else understands.  Anyways, while we were chilling, there was a group of hipsters outside my house, chatting loudly.  My house faced the rough and tumble streets of the West Coast, perhaps the roughest street on the entire Coast, peppered with one gun store, one liquor store, and countless authentic restaurants and hipster bars.  Nas would flee.  However, this particular group of upstanding taxpayers really irked me for some reason, as they stood in front of my door and screamed their conversations for the 'hood to decipher.  It wasn't even late, but it was very irritating, as they were there for about 45 minutes, loud non-stop.  Ethan left my house, and as I walked him out, we acted like we were mid-conversation and I said something like "so yeah, you should try pooping on her face next time as well", the young folks just looked at us and continued their pointless privleged noise.
  I came back to my room, ready to watch a Christopher Doyle film which I hadn't seen, when I saw my bag of baby cherry tomatoes.  I instantly reminisced all the times when my buddies Ben, N'jeri, Nick and I would sneak onto the rooftop of the VFW next to their house and hurl bananas at drunken loudness.
  I had three windows in my room, for some God-decided reason, the screen in my middle window fell off, leaving just a window pane between myself and the rough and tumble streets of the West Coast.  I turned off my lights, pulled up the window and the venetian blinds, and began hurling.  This was a much harder task because the targets were at an angle and there was a giant Gun Store sign between the targets and me.  I tried a few methods and failed to deter their interesting lively discussions about how pointless their lives must be.
  I then suddenly recalled the other portions of my flashback, when Nick and Ben always proved to be better hurlers of objects than me, and I was always more of an enabler/ cheerleader than a cohort.  I was saddened by their absences and tried getting my roommate in on this, he was not home.  I sat in front of my computer, as I am right now, a tiny bit deflated but mostly irritated.
  Then the girl from the gang shrieked again.  I then remembered (these flashbacks are absolutely true by the way and they are in the orders which I am writing right now) the one time that I'd successfully landed my target: I was on the back porch of their apartment and I threw half a banana that hit a girl coming out of the bar and she screamed "I don't even like bananas!" into the vast dark void that was the streets of Boston.  I got your message girl, loud and clear.
  That scream outside my door had to go, I have to sleep, my children have to learn, and my cherry tomatoes were about to expire.  I recalled the basic mechanics of a shotgun (from that movie "No Country for Old Men" that I'd just seen) and packed in fistuls of cherry tomatoes at a time.  I'd lean back for leverage, and adjusted my projectiles each time.  Their loud and private conversation had been going on for an hour now, there were hardworking immigrants in my hood who had to serve coffee to these ironic soundbite jukeboxes in the morning, I told myself.  I threw a few more and then I heard a very familiar and satisfying "what the f--!?" outside my window. 
  I stood still for a second, but they could kinda see my silhoutte though no really.  I tried to smoothly close the window and the blinds next to me, but it became as obvious as Rudolf's nose (or that movie Crash's biased moral) as the blinds got stuck and wouldn't come down in one pull. 
  The four of them just stared at my dark room for a second, and then the girl said to one of the boys "don't be nervouce, just go up and lay your hands on him."  The guy never "laid his hand" on me. They said bye to each other and peaced outta my street.